


Drive

by ellendare



Category: Jovan - Fandom, One Life to Live
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25047790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellendare/pseuds/ellendare
Summary: Evangeline's awakened from her coma; John is suspended from the PD and going nowhere fast. Both of them know their relationship has been over for two years, but is it finished?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Suspended

John McBain laid on the vinyl bench, silently counting his way through his first set of chest presses. He hadn’t felt like working out, but despite being unemployed and having plenty of time on his hands, he hadn’t been motivated enough to come up with a better alternative.

He finished the set and sat up to look around, wiping his hands on his sweats. It was a couple hours before the lunch rush and the gym was filling up with soccer moms trying to squeeze in a workout between morning school drop-off and grocery shopping, or for the lucky ones, their next manicure.

 _Everyone has some place to go next except me_ , he thought.

He leaned back, stretching his left shoulder, which hurt from the car accident he’d had more than a year ago. The doctors had rehabbed it as much as they could, but his range of motion remained limited. Under normal circumstances the shoulder didn’t bother him, but lifting weights reminded him how broken he still was.

He scowled at himself in the mirror on the opposite wall, procrastinating before beginning the next set, until his view was blocked by a ponytailed woman wearing very tight workout clothes.

She yapped into the wireless earpiece of her cell phone and fussed at the waistband of her pants, sliding it down so it showed off her hip bones. Not at all interested in her hip bones, John laid back down on the bench and eavesdropped. From long habit as a detective, he filled in the conversation on the other end of the phone. It was yet another installment of a competition she had with a sister or a best friend, an ongoing contest about who had to run the most errands before their kids got home from school and their husbands came home from work.

He jerked himself into the second set of presses.

 _Everyone has someone to go to except me_ , he thought.

Normally, that realization would have been just fine: alone was the way he was meant to be. He’d arranged his life so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the uncertainty and loss unavoidably brought on by keeping people close. Now, though, without the routine and volume of work to fill his hours, he was surprised to find himself craving human contact. Several times recently, without even thinking about it, he’d found himself walking through Angel Square during the lunch hour. He’d even gotten into his car and driven to the mall once just to be around people.

 _Pathetic_ , he thought, finishing the set and putting the weights down on the mat. It wasn’t like him, all this passive moping around. He’d been suspended from the Llanview Police Department for more than two months. He’d been waiting to find out if he was going to be charged for his role in hiding the paternity of Thomas John McBain, the little boy who was now called Thomas Todd Manning, Junior.

That little boy now lived with his biological father, and John’s devastated brother and sister-in-law had separated. Marcie had cut a deal and would be performing community service long into her future, and Michael had barely been allowed to remain a doctor at Llanview Hospital. Even if they managed, somehow, to stay together, they’d never be permitted to adopt again. In time, the McBains might heal and function in the world, but they’d never be happy.

And though it was nothing in comparison to what his brother was dealing with, John’s own future depended solely on the District Attorney’s office and the goodwill of Todd Manning. Neither entity was well-known for their compassion.

 _Talk about a losing bet_ , he thought. The last word he’d heard was that charges being filed against him was a matter of when and not if.

John’s anger, always hovering just under the surface of his chest, threatened to explode as he thought about it all again. He laid back down on the bench and let that anger lead him through the last set of presses. The violent way he pushed through the motions made his shoulder hurt, and he welcomed it. The physical pain gave him a focus for the hurt inside.

 _Shoulda gone to Rourke’s_ , he thought. What he needed was the heavy bag, or better yet, some sparring with Rourke or one of the regulars. _Screw this Serenity Springs shit._ He’d only come here today because, now having to watch his dollars, he’d cancelled the membership he’d bought with Evangeline, years ago, and he only had six days left.

Feeling the loss of Evangeline all over again, on top of the loss of his nephew Tommy, on top of the loss of his job, was putting him well over the line into the red zone. John stood up and racked the weights, not bothering to swipe his long hair out of his eyes. Then he grabbed his towel and did a half-ass job of wiping the bench before storming past the soccer moms in the direction of the locker room.

Outside of police work, there were few things that John McBain had ever worked on, wanted to be truly good at. Pool. Photography. And shutting off his emotions. He’d learned to do the last one out of necessity, when he was ten and his father was killed. He’d gone from being the apple of his father’s eye to being the man of the house in the span of a single night. Adults had been looking to him for answers and guidance ever since, and until Tommy, he’d never let any of them down.

 _Well, until Ms. Evangeline Williamson_ , he thought. _Let her down, first._

He hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted—needed—at least, not on her schedule.

John shook his head, knowing that this downward guilt spiral had to stop, and now. He knew himself well enough to know that the only place this was heading was toward a beat-down: he’d get drunk, or not, and pick a fight, and as long as no one important was watching, let the other guy whale. Better to wait until after the DA made a decision. If it didn’t go his way, he’d just have to go out and pick another fight, and even when you weren’t a cop, fights weren’t always as easy to come by as you’d imagine.

He slammed against the swinging door of the locker room, toward the welcome oblivion of a really cold shower.

###

John came around the corner of the juice bar, looking at the readout of his cell phone and heading for the main entrance. He swerved to avoid two women chatting near the door, but not fast enough: his gym bag clipped the leg of the woman on the right. He immediately turned around to apologize.

For a moment his heart stopped.

“Hey!” squeaked Layla Williamson, surprised to see him.

For a moment, despite Layla’s long hair, he’d thought it was Evangeline. The sisters looked just enough alike, and besides, John imagined Evangeline’s face superimposed on every tall, thin African-American woman out there, anyway. He blew out a breath.

He’d known Evangeline had finally woken from her coma, and he’d heard that, after a few weeks of close medical observation, she was pretty much fine, but he hadn’t seen her. And she hadn’t called.

John looked up and met Layla’s wide, warm eyes. He’d taken good care of her during the months Evangeline was in her coma. He’d known instinctively that there was nothing he could do to help Evangeline, but he’d kept in touch with her younger sister. That had been an unexpected comfort to Layla, because as Evangeline’s coma dragged on, she’d sensed that people were wanting her to move on. They didn’t want to hear bad news. John was different, though: he’d checked in from time to time not so much to hear if Evangeline’s condition had changed, but to find out how Layla was holding up. And he never once made her feel guilty for crying, for not being ready to let Evangeline go, because he felt exactly the same way. He’d been holding on to his memories of Evangeline for years now.

“Hi Layla,” he said, accepting her quick hug. John nodded politely at Layla’s friend, who looked familiar, but he couldn’t pair her up with a name.

“I should have called you again, after…” said Layla, sheepishly.

“Well, I heard the good news anyway.” John took a step back, preparing to leave. He’d clearly interrupted something. “Tell her… tell her I’m glad she’s okay.”

Layla’s friend looked on curiously and John nodded at her again.

“Sorry,” stumbled Layla after a long moment. “Haven’t you met? This is Courtney Malone.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, tossing her blonde, bobbed hair and smiling up at John.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, automatically offering his hand.

“Courtney’s a trainer here,” said Layla, filling in the silence while they shook hands.

“Great news about Evangeline, huh?” asked Courtney. John saw immediately that she knew the whole history, saw her adding it up: _so this is that loser cop she dated_.

John suppressed his smirk and backed up another step.

“So, good to see you, Layla. Good to meet you, Courtney.”

He saw Courtney make big round eyes at Layla as he turned to leave.

“John, wait.” Layla trotted after him. “You haven’t heard?”

John shook his head no.

“Well, we’re having a party. For Evangeline.” John’s eyes brightened, knowing—remembering—how much Evangeline loved parties. “It’s tonight. You should come.”

John pursed his lips and bristled, knowing he would decline. _If she wanted me there, she’d have called me herself._

Layla looked back to Courtney, who tilted her chin up.

“John, it’s a going-away party. Evangeline’s moving—” Layla stopped herself as she saw John’s eyes flash with hurt, then, as though nothing had happened, return to their watchful, stony gaze. “She’s moving back to DC, and I know she’d want to say goodbye.”

John breathed through his nose but said nothing. Layla put her hand on John’s sleeve, knowing he allowed the contact only because she was the sister of the woman he still loved.

“Rodi’s at 8. She’d love to see you. At least think about it.”

John pressed his lips together and nodded slowly.

“Okay. See you.”

He looked over to Courtney, then back to Layla’s sanguine face, before turning and beating a path through the double glass doors.

###

The closest joint to the police station, Rodi’s was a cop bar. With a retired-cop owner and almost all cop patrons, it was the safest place in town. John sat in his car in the side parking lot, his car backed in to the space the way he’d always done.

From his vantage point in the darkened corner, John watched and waited, letting his heart wrestle with his brain. He’d agonized all day about showing up here, struggled with the idea from the moment he’d left Layla at the gym. Just walking through that door would be difficult. He hadn’t set foot in Rodi’s since the day Bo had asked him to turn in his badge. Through the grapevine, everyone on the force knew what he’d done, of course, and why. To his face, at least, people could be expected to behave normally. But seeing their expressions, and hearing the awkwardness when they stumbled around calling him Lieutenant, or not, would be too much.

The party had started over an hour ago, so if he went inside now it would be obvious, at least to Evangeline, that he’d found it hard to see her again. And if he did go inside, then there would be the question of how long to stay. Leave too soon and they’d say he was rude; stay too long and they’d start to smirk and wonder if the famously hard-nosed cop still had a soft spot for the lady lawyer who’d famously dumped him.

All in all, it would just be easier to turn the key in the damn ignition, drive away, and never look back.

 _Except looking back is all I’m good for these days_ , he thought.

John thumped both hands on the cold steering wheel, annoyed at himself.

_Go. You know you’re going. Just go._

John remembered from boot camp at Quantico that you could make yourself do anything, as long as you knew you wouldn’t have to do it forever. So he decided to give himself a time limit, knowing that no matter what happened inside, it would be over and done in short order.

He swiped his hair away from his face and looked at his watch, mentally setting the timer.

_Forty minutes. Execute._

John got out of the car and strode through the narrow entryway of the bar, smirking to himself. Coming around the dividing wall into the main room, he took in Layla with her boyfriend Vincent Jones, Todd Manning, Cristian Vega, RJ Gannon, and Nora Hanen, all standing together near a table with a big cake. Their body language, relaxed from the party atmosphere, tensed noticeably as they saw him make his entrance.

_Well, just this morning you were ready for a beat-down… here it is._

Evangeline was nowhere to be seen.

Further inside the room, he saw many familiar faces: Caroline Watson and Emily Juneau from the public defender’s office, Griffin Pollock, another ADA who’d shared an administrative assistant with Evangeline, and Milanda Demetrios, who clerked for Judge McClellan. With Evangeline’s guidance and support, she’d gone back to school and was getting her JD. There were also several friends, including Courtney Malone from the gym that morning. She stared at John, openly curious, driving home the point that familiarity and friendship were not the same thing.

He continued looking around for a friendly face—any friendly face—and there was one: Antonio Vega stood across the room near the pool table, his back turned to John. Talia Sahid was with him. Years ago, before he’d rejoined the LPD, Antonio had been Evangeline’s lead investigator. John stuffed his hands in his pockets and marched himself over to them, pretending he didn’t notice the others watching him. He nodded hey, first to Sahid and then to Antonio when he turned, concern written on his face.

“Layla invited me,” said John without preamble, letting them both know he wasn’t here by accident. “How you doing?”

Antonio looked over at the glares coming from the other side of the room, then back to his friend and former boss.

“Better question is, how _you_ doing?”

“What, you mean the meeting of the _I Hate John McBain Club_ over there?” John flashed Antonio a mischievous grin. “No worries. Maybe I’ll give ’em an autograph later.”

“I’d love to see that,” Antonio smirked back, then wiggled his empty beer bottle. “I’m dry. What you drinking tonight?”

“I’ll go,” replied John, tipping his chin at the pool table. “No fair bugging out on Sahid here just when she’s about to kick your ass.”

Antonio snorted and Talia laughed.

“He’s letting me win,” she smirked.

John gave her an approving grin of her own, one he made sure Antonio couldn’t see.

“I’ll bet.”

He turned away, exhaling and relieved to have gotten through the first few minutes without incident. Mac was there behind the bar, scruffy and jovial as always.

“Hi, John,” he said, both hands on the bar. “What can I get you?”

Mac always addressed each patron by a nickname he’d chosen specially for them. Antonio was Tony Vee, Talia was Tally, Nora Hanen was known as Lady Day, a play on the fact that she was the DA. John had groused about it once, wondering what you had to do to earn a nickname at Rodi’s and Mac had pointed out that John’s nickname would obviously have been Mac, but that one was already taken, and by a _much_ handsomer dude.

John smiled at the recollection and looked into the mirror behind Mac, observing the reflection of the room. As he wondered if the tension from his arrival had blown over, it suddenly dawned on the former Chief of Detectives why Mac always re-named everyone who came to his place. It was his way of letting them know, subtly, that in here, they were civilians first and their rank didn’t matter. John imagined that simple technique had, over the years, prevented many job-related grievances from spilling over and becoming a problem in the bar.

“Two Hounds and a club soda,” replied John.

“Tally’s switching to club soda??” asked Mac. He was surprised; in spite of the looks and the long hair and the slender curves, Talia Sahid had been one of the guys from the get-go. And, she’d always been able to match the guys round for round.

John shook his head.

“The soda’s for me, Mac.”

Mac paused a moment as he processed the information. A twenty-year tour on the force followed by ten running the bar had made Mac a great student of human nature. _Well, no surprise: between losing the girl and losing the job, the Lieu must really be hurting._

“Wise choice.” He popped the caps off the beers with a fluid, one-handed motion, simultaneously reaching for the soda gun with his other hand. “Lime?”

“Sure, why not?” John shrugged.

Mac squished the lime over the top of the drink and tossed it in. He slid it across the bar to John, then looked up with a quirky smile.

“Be right back,” he said, picking up the Hounds bottles.

“No, I got it,” said John, reaching to take the beers from Mac.

“Nah. You watch the bar for me. Make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.”

John opened his mouth to argue, turning to watch Mac walk down the length of the bar, and then he figured it out.

Evangeline was standing right behind him. She wore a black dress with thin straps and a sweetheart neckline. Her shoulders and arms were covered by a sheer, embroidered shrug and her hair was pulled into a tight French twist. He met her smoky eyes in the mirror behind the bar and saw a genuine smile playing across her lips.

“You’re here,” she said sweetly, into the mirror.

“Layla invited me,” said John, defensively. _You look beautiful_ , he thought.

He turned, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his pants, and after a moment, offered a handshake.

“I know. She told me she ran into you.”

“Was the other way around. I ran into her.”

Evangeline smiled wider, accepting the handshake, and used his firm grip to pull herself close and give him a small kiss on the cheek.

It had been months, six months at least, since the last time he saw her. She looked too thin, but by all accounts she’d recovered fully from her coma and was doing very well. He swallowed, remembering how he’d reacted upon hearing the news. Layla had called and left a message on his phone late at night on the day she’d woken up. He’d sat in the parking garage between Angel Square and the hospital and listened to the message three full times before breaking down in the front seat of his car, tears streaming down his face and anguished cries of relief escaping his lips. It had been the most he had ever let himself go, emotionally.

“’s good to see you,” he said, hoping the emotion he still felt, thinking about it now, didn’t show too much in his voice.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she replied, letting go of his hand.

For an awkward moment neither of them knew how to proceed. Evangeline tried first.

“You quit drinking?” she asked, pointing to the club soda she’d watched Mac pour.

John laughed at himself and looked down.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, now you’ve got me dying to hear it,” she teased.

“Listen, I’ll make this quick.” John leaned in and spoke quietly, knowing they were being watched. “I just wanted to say good luck, and, you know, if you think about it, send me an e-mail once in a while. Tell me all about life in the fast lane.”

Evangeline smiled wistfully.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, looking up at him warmly.

“No you won’t,” laughed John. “But, uh, to that end, I did get you something.” He reached in the back pocket of his black jeans and pulled out a framed snapshot of the two of them, then handed it over to her.

“John! You shouldn’t have!”

“Well, I didn’t. You took this one, actually.”

It was from years ago when they were dating, a photo they had taken of each other on John’s bed, their arms out and wrestling for control of the camera. Their faces were close together and laughing as the flash went off. It wasn’t perfectly focused, and the photo was mostly of John, with Evangeline’s face coming in from the side. They both looked like they were having fun.

“This was your birthday,” she breathed.

John nodded.

“I’ve never seen this one. How did you—”

“Oh, I dunno. That was a weird night,” he said. “But I found it on my hard drive and I thought you’d get a kick out of it.” _You’re the one who wanted to make memories_ , he thought, remembering how she’d gone out to her car in the cold night to get her camera. And later, he’d started to talk out loud, take a huge step and tell her that he was falling for her, but she’d already dozed off next to him. And how, even later, he’d gotten up quietly while she slept and downloaded the pictures to his computer and erased the ones he didn’t want her to see: in most of the photos, his love for her was written all over his face. _Half the memories that got made that night, you didn’t have a clue._

Evangeline inspected the photo closely.

Looking at John’s wide smile, his happy face, forever preserved, Evangeline felt a lump in her throat. So few people had been lucky enough to see him like that: if you asked anyone else to describe John, they’d say he was serious. Or intense. And those were the people who felt like being kind. More commonly, the adjectives you’d hear would be brooding, or moody. Or depressing. That one got used a lot, too.

“You’re wrong,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his surprised ones. “You took this one. Look, my hands aren’t even touching the camera.”

John looked down at the photo and shook his head. _Not much gets by you_ , he thought.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Evangeline chewed her lip.

“This is your way of saying it wasn’t all bad times, right?”

John looked down ruefully.

“Nothing ever gets by you.” He gave her a small smile.

Evangeline laughed, glad she still understood him, understood the things he felt but could not say. Then she saw something over John’s shoulder and stopped laughing quickly.

“John, listen—” she started, urgency in her voice, but she was too late.

A tall African-American man came from behind John and scooped Evangeline under his arm. It was completely unexpected, and it took John a moment to place the man, and process the new reality. He immediately wished he could take that photograph back.

Evangeline eyed John apologetically; before the photograph, she’d been planning to tell him.

“Dennis, you remember John McBain?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “John, this is Dennis Lockhart.”

John pushed it all down, covering his new pain masterfully as he reached over to shake Evangeline’s ex-boyfriend’s hand. He’d assumed she was moving back to DC to resume her big-time law career. Now, Dennis’ possessive arm spoke volumes about the real reason she was leaving.

“Yes, of course. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Dennis smiled confidently, showing John clearly that he wasn’t considered a threat.

They’d been introduced at the funeral of Evangeline’s Aunt Rita. John had met her entire extended family that day, and it had put the weaknesses in their relationship into very bold relief. It had been the beginning of the end for them.

“Good to see you, too,” John lied, watching the two of them. Evangeline wouldn’t look him in the eye now that Dennis was here, and it made him angry. He never would have made her feel like she had to do that, controlled her that way, if their situations were reversed. Hell, he never _had_ done that when he was the boyfriend and Dennis was the ex.

John knew that he was expected to stay and make small talk for a few minutes, but he didn’t have it in him. He understood that Evangeline was leaving Llanview, and not leaving him—that she’d done years ago—but, now, tonight, he felt it as though it had just happened.

“Leenie, Nora wants you. She says it’s time to serve the cake.”

Evangeline laughed, looking up and focusing on John’s ear.

“Nora and her cake addiction,” she said, shaking her head.

John jumped at the excuse.

“So, looks like they need you. I’m gonna go. Good luck… to you both.”

John looked across, between Dennis and Evangeline, and saluted Antonio and Talia before turning for the door. He passed by Layla, who stood close to Vincent and looked at John with an apology in her eyes; it hadn’t been her news to tell, and John nodded just once, understanding her dilemma but not really forgiving her.

As for the others, he felt rather than watched the irritated stares of Todd Manning and Cristian Vega alongside the pitying gaze of Nora Hanen, and he heard the deep rumble of a mocking laugh as he approached.

“Awwwww. He looks so _sweet_ without his badge and his gun,” intoned R.J. Gannon.

“What makes you think I’m not carrying, Gannon?” John snapped out the words, his voice threatening, as he walked past.

Of the others, the ones who didn’t ignore him outright rolled their eyes.

He made himself walk slowly toward the door, fighting with himself not to look back. He weakened at the last minute and turned, looking through the round porthole.

The only person returning his gaze was Evangeline Williamson: everyone else had forgotten about him the moment he’d left their field of vision. They were all smiling and singing _for she’s a jolly good fellow_ , but Evangeline knew his ways, had known he’d turn and was waiting for him, meeting his eyes with the apology she could not say out loud.

John took a long, last look, then hit the door and pushed it open, welcoming the cold November air that helped him fill his veins with ice. His phone was ringing before his feet hit the asphalt of the parking lot. It was Antonio, and John didn’t let his best friend go first.

“You could have fucking told me, man!”

“I thought you knew! Why the hell else would you show up?” Antonio had seen it go down, seen the look on John’s face when Dennis appeared, though he doubted anyone else besides Evangeline noticed. Besides, the first he’d ever even heard of any Dennis was tonight at the beginning of the party.

John answered him with silence as he got into his car.

“Are you gonna be okay?” asked Antonio.

John turned the key in the ignition.

“Don’t worry about me, man. My life just got a whole lot simpler.”

John hung up the phone without another word and threw it on the passenger seat. He drove out of the lot and turned right on Delray Avenue. When he got to the first stoplight, he picked the phone back up and turned it off. It was going to be a long goddamn time before he turned it back on again.


	2. Alexandria

Three days later, Evangeline was finishing packing her belongings into green-imprinted Bekins boxes. She’d tried to be systematic, starting two days ago in the kitchen and working her way around her apartment, but it had been a while since she’d moved. She’d forgotten how long packing took. Now she was trying to keep ahead of the movers who’d just arrived, two and a half hours late, at 11:00 on Monday morning.

She kept coughing, feeling the dust from the move settle in her throat, so she headed to the kitchen in search of her Diet Coke. On her way back, she came across one of the movers, who was carrying a plain brown box toward the door.

“Wait—” Evangeline chased after him and touched his arm. He was wearing ear buds and hadn’t heard her. “Sorry, that one doesn’t go.”

The man shrugged and dumped the box next to the sofa, then looked around for the next box.

“Try the bathroom,” suggested Evangeline, helpfully. “There’s a bunch of stuff in there.”

She sat down on the end of the chaise and pulled the small box over toward her feet. Pressing her lips together, she opened it and looked in, thinking back to the last time she’d seen it. She’d sat slumped in a chair, holding it on her lap, knowing that John was dead and the contents, the bits and pieces inside, were all she had left of the man she’d loved more than anyone else.

Evangeline opened the box again, and everything was as she’d left it: his dark blue LPD tee shirt was still inside, along with the two poetry books that had been in “his” nightstand and the special pint glasses she’d bought him, engraved with his initials: JMcT. He’d laughed when he saw them, calling them fancy, and argued with her about why the Mc was in the middle. He’d thought it should be on the right. There was one of his ties, and a dress shirt he’d left at her place. She’d had it laundered, and now it lay in the box with the band from the cleaners on it. And there was a notebook, one of John’s black ones that came with an elastic band to hold it closed. He’d left it at her place one night, right before they’d broken up, and she’d never opened it, never once read it, though she still wondered, often, what secrets he’d penned inside.

Beyond those items, and the photograph he’d given her last Friday, she had nothing to show for the time she’d spent with John. Nothing, except for the memories.

Images from their yearlong affair flashed into her head, from their first kiss on a dare at the Palace Hotel, to the way he’d taken charge first time they were together and the way she, used to being the one in control, had responded, then to their first real public date. Evangeline bit her lip, remembering how quickly they’d connected, how comfortable they were with each other, and how different John was when he was alone with her. She remembered how attentive he was when he could put his job aside, how he always wanted her to be within arm’s reach, how he’d hold her hand or touch her back, all without ever making her feel crowded. Most of all, she remembered the way he’d look at her, and how when he did that she couldn’t look away.

He was the only man she’d ever been with who made her feel safe and excited at the same time.

Sadly, consistency, the hallmark of John’s police career, was not the defining characteristic of his intimate relationships. Evangeline had found herself, too often, at the bottom of John’s list of competing responsibilities.

 _But God, when he got out of his own way, he was amazing_ , she thought _._

When he was able to put it all aside, it was the most connected and loved and cared for she’d ever felt. That connectedness, the way he touched her and the way he looked at her, that’s what had made it so hard to end things, each and every time she’d tried. Evangeline sighed to herself.

_John was right. Better just to remember the good times._

Evangeline’s cell phone rang, playing the opening notes of “Here and Now” by Luther Vandross. It was Dennis calling. She pushed the box aside on the carpet and sprinted to the kitchen counter to answer before the call went to voicemail.

“Hello Miss Leenie!” he called out enthusiastically. “I haven’t heard from you all day! What time are you going to be here?”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” she sighed. “The movers were two hours late and they’re still loading, and I have some errands to run before I can get on the road.”

“What time?” As always, he wanted her to be precise.

“Dennis,” she sighed, hating to disappoint him. “It’s not going to work. I’ll never make it there by six.”

“Then you should leave right now, so you can be on time.”

“Dennis, I can’t! They still have a bedroom and a half the kitchen to load.”

Dennis was silent, and Evangeline didn’t know if it was because he had nothing to say or because he was multitasking.

“Dennis, I’ll be there, just later tonight.”

“Leenie, no arguments now. Save the arguments for court.”

Evangeline shook her head. He said that to her all the time.

“Look, Dennis, I’m sorry I’ll miss the dinner, but there’ll be other dinners, right? I’ll leave you a message as soon as I get in.”

Following a client emergency that sent the managing partner of his firm to Chicago, Dennis had been invited to a dinner at the White House in the partner’s place. He’d called in a couple favors, big ones, to get Evangeline invited as well.

“Baby, this isn’t just any dinner. This is dinner _at the White House._ I need you with me tonight.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do: it’s a four hour drive when there’s no traffic!”

It was Dennis’ turn to sigh. He’d asked her make this move a week earlier. _You’re in the big time again_ , he’d said. _It’s time to leave this part of your life behind._ But Evangeline had insisted on waiting until after her small-town friends threw her that tacky going-away party.

“Fine. Here’s what you do. Have them put your car on the truck. I’ll have Kennya arrange a towncar and a flight for you. As soon as they pack the last box, get to the airport in Philly. The driver will know your flight. And I’ll have a car waiting for you on this end.”

Evangeline said nothing, not wanting to disappoint Dennis, but also not wanting to race around all afternoon just so she could go to the White House and be on her best behavior all night. It was just past noon and all she wanted was a hot bath and a dirty martini to help her relax, and her day was only going to get worse.

“Leenie, I _need_ you.”

Evangeline blew out a breath.

“Of course, Dennis. I’ll make it happen. Don’t worry.”

“I never worry when it comes to you, Leenie.”

“Right. I’ll call you when I land.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Evangeline started to hang up the phone, mentally adjusting her lengthy to-do list, the one Dennis had just completely rearranged.

“Leenie?” he shouted. “Forgetting something?”

“What’s that?” she asked, replacing the phone at her ear.

“I love you.”

Evangeline looked down at her tennis shoes and nodded, still working the to-do list.

“I love you, too, Dennis. See you soon.”

She hung up the phone and tossed it into her purse, then put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

“Guys?” she called out to the movers, peeking from room to empty room. “Small change in plans…”

###

Evangeline waited impatiently until the towncar came to a stop in the loading zone at the front of the Angel Square Hotel. She told the driver to stay put, then climbed out by herself, wondering if Roxanne Balsom was inside at the desk. Roxy had a thing for limousines and would want to talk her ear off about it. She’d probably beg to see the inside and flirt with the driver and try to take some of the complimentary booze.

Evangeline pulled the heavy wooden door open, then, carrying John’s box, sneaked quietly past the desk and the open office door, up the first of three flights of stairs.

 _I should have called first, made sure he’s home_ , she thought, before remembering that he’d been suspended. _Then again, where else would he be?_

She turned the corner and headed up the next set of stairs, glad she’d had time to rehearse what she was going to say on the ride over. She’d practiced it twice—not out loud like she would have done if she was preparing for court, but all the way through in her head, twice, just to make sure it was logical and not emotional, and that she hadn’t left anything out.

She’d open, going first the way he always let her, speaking her piece until he smirked and called her Counselor to acknowledge how hard she’d practiced. Then he’d smile and tell her to spit it out.

 _Come on, Counselor. Just tell me_ , he’d say, the light dancing in his soulful blue eyes.

And she would.

She’d tell him how Dennis had come to visit when she was recovering and totally adrift, offering her security and a chance to start over, and most importantly, a chance to make up for lost time.

And she’d lost a lot of time.

He’d made her an offer that no reasonable, reasoning woman would refuse.

She’d explain it, and knowing what a stand-up guy John was, he’d let her.

He wouldn’t say, _So you’re settling_.

He might think it, but he wouldn’t say it.

And then they’d part friends.

Evangeline climbed the last three steps, a little out of breath, clutching the box and rounding the corner down the hall to apartment number 6, retracing the route she’d taken so many times to the door of Lieutenant John McBain.

She smiled widely, seeing that the door was open.

_Good! He’s here._

She came fully into the doorway and her mouth fell open in shock.

John’s apartment was completely empty, save for the lone man in coveralls working methodically, covering the oxblood-colored walls with a coat of shockingly bright oyster white paint.

###

Evangeline walked slowly, holding the box under one arm and moving sidewise, carefully down each step. She still had problems with depth perception on occasion. It happened mostly with dark surfaces. The doctors told her it was because of lack of movement when she’d been in her coma, and there had been exercises to try to fix it, but the problem came and went. The bottom line was that going down stairs reminded her she was still broken.

 _Maybe he’s just found another place in town_ , she imagined. But even as she thought it, she knew it was unlikely.

Evangeline stopped on the landing, deep in thought, knowing she had a flight to catch, knowing that Dennis was waiting impatiently for the news that she’d landed so he could leave work and get ready for their big night at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

 _Well, the President will just have to wait_ , she thought, turning on her heel and heading to apartment number 4.

She knocked twice and Michael McBain opened the door in a hurry. Evangeline could tell he’d hoped it would be his estranged wife, because his face was aimed down in the vicinity of her collarbone. Marcie was half a foot shorter than Evangeline.

“Hey, E,” he said, recovering quickly, though his voice was sad. “It’s good to see you. You look great.”

“Hi, Michael,” she smiled, sad herself. Despite her breakup with John, she’d remained friends with Michael and Marcie, and had been shocked to hear everything that had happened to them while she lay, oblivious, in the hospital. “How are you?”

“I’m…. not good,” he said. “No surprise, right?”

They both laughed.

“Michael, I’m so sorry. About everything. I should have gotten in touch before…” Evangeline’s voice trailed off. “Can I do anything for you? Anything at all?”

 _Can you put my marriage back together and give us our little boy again?_ he thought, and the words showed right on his face.

“No, E. You worry about you for a change.”

Evangeline shook her head, wondering how the whole situation between the McBains and Todd Manning had gotten so out of control. Todd was no angel, and not an easy client to control, but if she’d been involved, she would have made sure he allowed the McBains generous visitation. She knew exactly what she would have done to make Todd toe the line. And she would have made sure the McBains responded graciously: what seemed impossible to all of them now would be acceptable in hindsight. Michael’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Why don’t you come on in?” he asked.

“Oh, Michael, no, I can’t. You probably haven’t even heard… I’m moving back to DC. I’m late for a plane right now.”

“Well, that explains the box,” he said.

“Actually, the box is for John,” she said, her confusion apparent. “But I went upstairs… his apartment…”

Michael nodded and looked down, and when he looked back to Evangeline, she thought he might start to cry.

John had come to the door midway through Saturday evening carrying a large pizza box, and asking if he could crash on his brother’s couch. Michael had assumed it was just his big brother checking up on him, but John had handed over the pizza, then bent to the side of the door and picked up a black ballistic nylon carry-on bag and two smaller, padded cases, and brought them inside. He positioned the bags carefully just inside the door.

 _So Mike_ , he’d said, turning around and putting his hands on his hips, _I’m leaving._

Michael had looked at him in disbelief. He and John shared a bond, but would never be what others called close. Despite this, he couldn’t believe John would choose to leave now, with everything both of them had going on. And selfishly, being completely alone was not what Michael had had in mind.

_Mike, you have to understand that it’s not because of you. It’s better this way. People think I’m a liar, not you. If I stay, you’ll be guilty by association._

Michael shook his head. John’s reasoning, usually top-notch, was truly weak. Michael knew dully that something else must be driving him, but if John wasn’t volunteering the reason, no amount of questioning would get it out of him.

_You gotta trust me. It’s better this way, for everyone._

Michael had heard the finality in his brother’s voice, and knew that arguing would be useless. He’d stood slowly and poured them each a very large whiskey from the bottle of Jameson’s that John had bought him the previous Christmas, and they sat on opposite ends of the couch, drinking together in silence, until Michael got up and stumbled himself face down onto the bed, still fully clothed.

He’d passed out, knowing he’d be hung over when he woke up, and that his brother would be long gone.

Now, he looked down at Evangeline.

“He left town.”

“When???”

“What’s today? Monday?”

Evangeline nodded.

“Sunday morning. Early.”

“Why?” she asked.

Michael looked back at her in disbelief. He had a very short fuse these days, and he felt like yelling at her: _Isn’t that obvious???_

“He said he wanted to keep me from being guilty by association.”

Evangeline pressed her lips together and nodded.

“That sounds like John,” she offered.

“But I guess we know the real reason now.”

Evangeline swallowed and felt hot tears behind her eyes.

“Come on, Michael. John and I were over a long time ago.”

Michael smirked, letting her off the hook.

“For you, maybe.”

Evangeline drew in a deep breath and shakily blew it out.

“So do you have an address? I’ll send this stuff to him.”

Michael shook his head.

“He’s _gone_ , Evangeline. I don’t think even John knows where he’s going.” There was silence for a minute. “I guess eventually I’ll see him again, right? Someday? I mean, I could hang on to it for you.”

“Um, you know? It’s personal. So thanks, but…”

Evangeline’s cell phone began to ring in her pocket. Dennis was calling. She put the box down behind her and answered, putting up her index finger.

“Hey,” she said, smiling tensely at Michael. “I’m almost there. Uh-huh. I’ll call you when I land.”

She spoke quietly, turning her body sideways from Michael, who shook his head softly.

“Me too.”

Evangeline hung up the phone, pressing her lips together again while she put it back in her pocket. Then she smiled sadly and drew Michael into a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you,” she said. “I’m so sorry I have to go right now. But if you need help… legal advice, just a shoulder, anything, you call me. In fact, promise you’ll just call me.”

Michael held on tight, nodding into Evangeline’s shoulder.

“I promise,” he said, though he had no such intention. In the last few months, he’d discovered that lying to people was not that hard, and getting easier all the time.

Evangeline gave him a final squeeze, then picked up the box and waved, once, before heading slowly down the stairs. She walked all the way out the front door of the hotel, waited in the cold while the driver opened the door for her, and climbed in. She put the divider up and the window down, feeling the November air lick at her face, riding backwards and watching the fire escape of John’s third-floor apartment until she couldn’t see it any more through her tears.

_It’s been two damn years. Why does it still hurt so much?_

She bent her head and sobbed quietly, crying to relieve the hurt in the center of her chest, the ache caused by the memory of an impossible love. Finally, knowing she’d let herself go long enough, she closed the window and dried her tears on John’s LPD tee shirt, because that was all she had inside the car with her.

 _So much for leaving this part of my life behind_ , she thought, thinking of Dennis’ clipped words.

Then she picked up her cell phone and made a call to Todd Manning.

She knew instinctively that there was nothing she could do for John, but there was still something she could do to help his younger brother. It took her several minutes and several nonviolent threats, but when she hung up, she’d gotten what she wanted.

Evangeline Williamson spent the rest of the ride to the airport looking out the window, absent-mindedly rubbing the hem of the tee shirt between her thumb and forefinger, and wondering where the hell John had gone.

As the driver slowed into the white zone at Philadelphia International Airport, she folded the shirt neatly and placed it back into the box.

 _Take care, John, so I can get these back to you someday_ , she thought.

###

Evangeline’s phone had rung as soon as she’d turned it on upon landing at Reagan National, and she’d found her driver in short order. He’d taken her carry-on bag and stowed it in the trunk, then held the brown cardboard box while he helped her into the back of the car. Instead of taking her to her new apartment at the address she’d given, he headed the other direction, to Dennis’ penthouse.

She sat back against the grey leather of the seats and shook her head. A black dress bag lay on the seat next to her, along with a large plastic shoebox. He’d gotten her new clothes so she wouldn’t have to go home, to her own apartment.

_You’re gonna make sure I’m there on time, aren’t you, Mr. Lockhart?_

Evangeline opened the shoebox and found a small black evening clutch and a pair of pumps: they were Ninas, classic black peau-de-soie with a bow on the toe. They were high-heeled but conservative and not nearly as sexy as the Manolos she wished she’d thought to bring with her on the plane.

She zipped the bag down just a bit, almost afraid to look. Two dresses were inside, the tags still on, one a taupe-grey and draped and the other black and form-fitting. Both were her size, and either would do. He’d chosen well. Or rather, his assistant had.

Evangeline leaned back and dialed Dennis’ office number, knowing he was probably at his place already. Kennya answered on the first ring.

“Did you have fun shopping, girl?”

“You know I did. Which one are you going to wear?”

“Which one did he like best?”

“The grey one.” Kennya didn’t bother to keep the smirk out of her voice. Neither did Evangeline. Unless they were at home by themselves, Dennis had always liked her to cover up.

“You know, I think I just might like the black one best.”

“Well, you’ve got the figure for it, girl,” said Kennya, shifting in her chair and wondering what it would be like to go through life as a size two. “So how was moving day?”

“Everything’s on that truck except my makeup and what I have on right now. I have never traveled so light in my life!” Evangeline spoke brightly, hoping that her residual sadness didn’t show.

“I don’t know… traveling light. It kind of sounds _exciting_. Like an adventure!”

Evangeline bit her lip, smiling. Kennya got excited about a lot of things.

“So listen, thanks for setting everything up. Can I come by and take you out for a drink later this week? Wednesday, maybe?”

“Definitely.”

She ended the call, tracing her fingernail along the tiny, pearllike buttons. Then, looking at the shoes, she pressed and held the 7, John McBain’s favorite number.

Her heart pounded as she waited, wondering if he would answer on the other end. It clicked over instead of ringing.

“You’ve reached my voicemail,” came his voice, gruff and clipped. “Please leave a message.”

He’d changed it: his greeting used to be much longer, and friendlier, including all of the several other numbers where he could normally be found.

 _You’ve reached Lieutenant John McBain of the Llanview Police Department_ , she thought, hearing husky his voice in her head. _But maybe I never really did._

Evangeline pressed the red button just as the beep came through the speaker, then rested the phone against her chin. The things she’d wanted to say to him, she couldn’t say in a message. And anyway, she knew he wouldn’t call back.

Twenty-six stop-and-go minutes later, the driver pulled into the rounded drive at the Carillon Towers, and Alexei, the crimson-uniformed doorman, rushed out under the portico to help Evangeline from the car.

“Meez Villiamsen,” he said with a smile. “It good to see you beck.”

Evangeline grinned at Alexei as he took the dress bag from her.

“What’s my new word today?”

Alexei had been slowly teaching Evangeline to speak Russian. 

“I hear you and Meester Lookhart have a beeg date tonight, yes?”

Evangeline nodded.

“Staryj drug luchshye novykh dvukh.”

She repeated it after him slowly. Her ear for French had helped her acquire some tidbits of the new language quickly, and Alexei nodded encouragingly.

“It mean: an old friend eez better than two new ones.”

Evangeline looked at him for a long moment, then spoke quietly.

“I guess that depends on the friend,” she said slyly. “Alexei, I need a favor.”

“Of course, Meez Villiamsen.”

“Evangeline.”

“Ewangelina.”

“Maybe we should try a nickname,” she laughed, bending into the open towncar, and pulling out the brown box. “Alexei, would you hang on to this for me? I can pick it up tomorrow.”

Alexei saw the concern in her eyes, and knew not to ask any questions.

“Ov course, your secret safe wiss me.”

Evangeline started to argue that it wasn’t a secret, then stopped herself and handed the box over with a grateful smile. He tucked it under one arm, and gave her the dress bag when she held out her hands. Finally, she turned back to the car and grabbed her tote bag and the plastic shoebox.

“I appreciate it, Alexei.”

“Otsyatstviya problemi.”

“No problem,” she translated.

“Correct-a-mundo!” he grinned, running his extra hand through his crew-cut locks. She was an excellent pupil. He followed behind her to the elevator bay and pressed the button, holding the doors open and waiting until she got inside, finally leaning inside and pressing the gold button that would send her up to the penthouse.

The ride was swift and quiet, and the elevator door opened directly into the foyer. The black-lacquered door was already open for her. Alexei had called up, as usual. Stepping inside, she could hear Dennis talking on the phone, and when he saw her, he smiled broadly and raised his finger, signaling he was almost done. Evangeline laid the dress bag and her tote and the shoebox on the low, cream-colored Danish sofa. She looked out the expanse of windows at his million-dollar view of the Masonic Temple and the DC skyline.

“Cliff. I need three minutes. Count to two hundred and call me right back.”

_Wow. Break my neck to get here and all’s I get is three whole minutes._

Dennis hung up the phone and came over to Evangeline, giving her a kiss followed by a tight hug, and another soft kiss.

“I have a surprise for you,” he smiled, locking his hands low around the small of her back.

“I saw it. The dresses, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Dennis stepped back and picked up her hand, then led her toward the bedroom.

“Dennis, no, baby, I have to get ready,” she pleaded.

He pulled her into the master bedroom, toward the low, starkly dressed king size bed.

“Dennis!”

At the last moment he veered toward the master bath and pushed open the door.

He’d run a bubble bath for her and set candles throughout the room. Evangeline’s muscles ached from all the lifting and the jasmine scent smelled heavenly. To the side of the tub lay a small plate with chunks of cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto. Next to that was a cocktail shaker and a martini glass with an olive in it. Dennis stepped around Evangeline to pour her drink, and the hot, moist air in the bathroom caused wet condensation to form immediately on the sides of the glass.

“Oh, Dennis,” she breathed. “This is exactly what I wanted. It’s perfect.”

He slipped her cardigan off her shoulders and waited while she stepped out of her shoes. She pulled her tank top over her head, then unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. She could hardly wait to sink into that water.

Dennis trailed his hand from the dimples above her ass, up along her spine, stopping to massage her neck. She rolled her head from side to side, stretching the tight muscles, then turned to face him and give him a kiss on the lips.

When she stepped back, Dennis looked her all the way up and down, taking her in.

“And this is exactly what I wanted, Leenie,” he said, staring at her curves. “ _You’re_ perfect.”

Evangeline gave him a small smile and settled into the tub, making sure she didn’t get her hair wet. Leaning back, she took a long sip of the cool martini and began to shake off her awful day.

“You get twenty minutes.” Dennis smiled back as his cell phone rang in the other room.

“Mmmhmmm,” she sighed as the door clicked closed.


	3. Goodbyes

John had come straight home from that party—even now he wouldn’t let himself think her name—and gone to the storage area in the basement of the Angel Square Hotel. He’d grabbed his pile of flattened cardboard boxes, the ones he’d brought with him when he’d first moved out from AC, then taken a couple more from the stash of extras kept stacked against the corner of the dimly lit room.

Not allowing himself to think too much about what he was doing, he’d climbed slowly upstairs, let himself into his apartment, and put the boxes down.

He shrugged out of his jacket and didn’t bother to hang it up. Next was a beer from the fridge. He’d twisted off the cap and tossed that into the garbage before raising the bottle in salute to no one and taking a long drink.

 _It’s too damn hot in here_ , he thought. He could never get cool enough anymore. It was as if his body temperature had been reset a year ago during the fire that had nearly claimed his life.

He put the beer down on the desk and unknotted his tie, then went to the window and opened it wide, getting some momentary relief from the cold air that swirled into the room. Walking to the closet, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. He rummaged in a box at the bottom of the closet, pulling out a thick roll of clear tape with a smirk. John always kept a roll of tape in his crime scene kit: it came in handy for just about everything.

He worked quickly, taping the box bottoms tight and square. Then he moved efficiently from room to room, selecting a few of the books from the bookshelves and some of the contents from the desk drawers and some of the clothes. Those items and the suits and ties would go to back to his old room, at his mom’s house in Atlantic City; he’d pack the jeans and the tee shirts, and the rest he’d donate to the Love Center.

All of the framed photographs went into the biggest of the boxes, with some clothes packed in the spaces so the glass wouldn’t crack.

He lined up the boxes next to the door, bringing out the crime scene box and the two that contained the stuff that had been in his office at the PD. He opened one of these, then the other, looking for his football. It was on top of a pile of case folders in the second box and he pulled it out, knowing he’d want it with him. Tossing it around, even if it was to himself and back, helped him think.

He went back to the closet and pulled out a medium-sized soft-sided travel bag and tossed it on the bed.

 _Underwear. Socks. Shirts. Jeans. And a sweatshirt, just to make Mom happy_ , he thought. It would stay in the trunk. He was so hot all the time now, he’d never wear it.

He zipped the bag and brought it to the door, leaving the football sitting on top.

All of it took him less than 45 minutes.

 _Seven boxes. My entire life fits in seven boxes_ , he thought, shaking his head.

John was surprised by the final count. It was two more boxes than he had when he’d arrived.

He finished his beer and tossed it into the wastebin underneath the desk. Then, knowing the Angel Square Hotel didn’t have an elevator and he was in for seven boxes times three flights of stairs up and down just to get his pathetic shell of a life down to his car, he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, letting the tie come with it.

These he balled up and slammed into the can on top of the empty bottle.

 _No time to get them cleaned. And even if I did, I’d never wear ’em again_. They would be forever marked by what had happened between him and Evangeline not three hours earlier.

Thirty minutes later, his GTO was loaded with boxes filling the trunk and the rear seat. He took a shower and let the lukewarm water cool him off. He finally reached a temperature he liked as he stood in the now-cold bedroom, drying himself with a towel he’d never use again. Then he dressed quickly, grabbed his keys and turned out the lights, and left for Atlantic City.

###

_It was a sunny summer day and the shouts of boys rang out, echoing from one end of the playground to the other. Their hair was long, flopping over their eyes and ears, in the style of the day, as they played. John felt hot in his leather jacket, but did not take it off. His Glock was holstered just to the side of his right hip and he rarely let his weapon show in the presence of children._

_The kids had started with a game of tag, but now they were running up and down the jungle gym, using it as an obstacle course. Once the game lost its structure, one of the boys had backed away, watching silently, and trying to figure out what the rules were before joining back in. He stepped further and further away, until his back touched the chain-link fence, and he leaned against it, his face a mask except for his eyes. John knew that look, knew what it meant, and moved closer to ask if the boy was okay._

_The Old Man’s voice came from the left, behind him._

_“Why aren’t you playing with the other kids, Johnny?”_

_John turned to answer, but the boy spoke first._

_“Don’t like to play games.”_

_“Looks like they’re having fun, son.”_

_John said nothing, watching his younger self and trying to swallow the lump in his throat._

_“Why not go back and give it a try?”_

_“I want to stay here with you, Dad.”_

_When the Old Man finally spoke, John could hear the pain in his voice._

_“You can’t, Johnny. You can’t stay with me.”_

_“Daddy, I want to be with you!” moaned the boy._

_“No, Johnny, wake up. Wake up. Now.”_

John’s eyes snapped open just past noon on the couch in his parents’ den in Atlantic City. He’d slept restlessly, his dreams waking him up several times in the night. Now in the bright winter light, he knew he’d needed to wake up, but he couldn’t remember why.

He got up and stretched, enjoying the cool air. It had to be about 60 degrees in the house; Eve never kept the heat on when she was away on a cruise. He padded barefoot to the kitchen, feeling the icy cold for the first time as his feet passed from the carpeting to the vinyl flooring in the kitchen. Shifting from foot to foot, he let the water run for a minute before finding a glass and having a drink of water. Then he walked back to the den and got his cell phone, mentally preparing himself for a call he didn’t want to make.

The Commissioner of Police, his boss, answered on the second ring.

“Hi Bo, it’s me.”

“What’s up, John?”

He hesitated, hearing Bo’s surprise. John hadn’t called Bo once since the day Bo had asked for his badge and gun. Worse yet, the words he was about to say would disappoint this man, and John hated that feeling.

“Well, unless it’s going to be considered unlawful flight, I’m leaving town.”

There was a pause before Bo said anything.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any way I can change your mind?”

John pressed his lips together, then stumbled forward with the words he’d prepared.

“I wanted to thank you. You’ve always been there when I needed anything, and I appreciate it.”

He was telling Bo he’d miss him. They were friends, but Bo had also been a trusted advisor, and a surrogate father, though John would never be able to put that feeling into spoken words.

“Listen, come over for dinner. I can’t get away; the farrier’s due in this afternoon and I have to be there.”

“No, Bo. Thank you.”

“John, there’s paperwork you need to sign. I can have it delivered to the Estate.”

John knew very well that Bo could have the papers left for him at the station. _Maybe he’s trying to save me the humiliation_ , he thought.

“What time?”

“Four. And dress casual.”

“See you then.”

John hung up the phone. It gave him slightly more than enough time to shower, eat, and get back on the road, heading home to Llanview, for the very last time.

###

The drive to the Buchanan Estate wended its way for a third of a mile, dividing the pasture that lay between the road and the main house. John pulled the GTO up close to the iron gate and looked through his open window in the general direction of the keypad and the hidden security camera he knew was there. The gates rolled open before he even had the chance to announce himself.

He drove to the parking area off to the side of the circular drive and got out, taking the narrow box from the floor of the back seat. John walked the short distance to the front door and rang the bell, knowing that Nigel Bartholomew-Smythe, the major domo, and coincidentally, his landlord, was already waiting for him on the other side.

 _He knows I’m here. He watched me drive up. Why doesn’t he just open the damn door?_ thought John, wondering why they had to play this stupid game and knowing at the same time that his frustration was misplaced. Nigel was a friend; so was Bo. It was the situation and not the company that was putting him in a foul mood.

Nigel’s melodic, British-accented voice, the epitome of deference and concern, broke through John’s internal monologue.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Commissioner Buchanan asked if you would care to join him out at the barn. You remember the way?” John nodded, then smirked as Nigel continued. “You’ll find a cart near the kitchen entrance.”

The Buchanan Estate was big enough that the family kept a small fleet of electric golf carts to get quickly from place to place. It was Nigel’s job to offer the use of the carts to guests, and he did so now, though both of them knew that John would never accept.

“I can get there on my own,” he said stiffly.

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

John walked back down the steps and out along the path at the side of the house, past the leafless trees and the empty, plastic-covered beds where Nigel cut flowers for the house in summer. The clean smell of ice was in the air; the temperature was dropping and though it wasn’t bad now, it was going to be a cold night. Ten minutes later John came around the corner of the barn and peered into the wide open door.

Bo Buchanan was bent way over, holding the hoof of a huge chestnut-colored horse between his legs. John didn’t want to startle him, so he said nothing and leaned quietly against the wooden door frame, watching Bo work. He carefully filed off part of the horse’s hoof, then used a stiff brush to clear away any dirt, then reached back for a driving hammer and the shoe that he’d hooked around one of his belt loops. Finally, Bo patted his pockets, wondering where he’d stowed the nails.

“John,” said Bo. “A little help?”

He’d known John was there all along, and pointed him over to the bench where a plastic box of shoeing nails lay open. John stepped over and scooped up a few, then, watching horse’s huge eye and giving it a wide berth, sidled over beside Bo.

“Changing the tires?”

“Yeah, I thought we’d go for a ride. I took him out to get him settled, and he threw a shoe in the first two minutes.”

John heard nothing past the ‘go for a ride’ part. _He can’t really be expecting me to do that._ Bo expertly tapped the shoe into place, then turned the horse’s hoof into the light, checking his work.

“My farrier’s probably gonna kill me. She’s really picky.”

This was one of those times where John couldn’t tell if a response was expected.

“Looks good to me.”

“Yeah, but what do you know?” joked his boss, letting the horse lower his foot.

“Not much,” replied John.

Bo observed his soon-to-be-former Chief of Detectives for a moment, then looked him warmly in the eye.

“Why don’t you hand over the bottle so we can get out of here?” he asked.

John complied with a shy smile. _Maybe he’s gonna make it easy on me._ Bo accepted the boxed gift, an Evan Williams single-barrel Bourbon, one of the best around and in relatively short supply. John had probably had to work to find it, and Bo was touched. He murmured his thanks, then got right to it.

“So saddle up.”

“Yeah, Bo, I don’t—”

“You still on the force?”

“For a couple more minutes,” replied John, grimacing and putting his hands on his hips. Bo gave him a very pointed look. “Yes, technically.”

“Then that’s an order.”

John snorted out a breath and shook his head.

“It’s been years. Like since junior high school.”

“It’s just like riding a bike.”

“Funny, that’s not how I remember it.” John had never told anyone about it, but he’d gotten thrown off the only time he’d ever tried to ride. Not only had it hurt like hell and left him blue with bruises all over, the other kids on the field trip had laughed riotously at the sight of Johnny Mac falling ass over teakettle in the dirt. It had taken him most of a school year to live it down, and he’d vowed never to do it again.

“So, put your wallet in a pocket, grab a hat, let’s go.” Bo pointed to a variety of cowboy hats hung on nails pounded into the tackroom wall. John moved his wallet from his back pocket to his inside coat pocket, then pursed his lips. _You gotta draw the line somewhere_ , he thought.

“No hat.”

“It gets cold out there. You’ll want one.”

“No hat.”

Bo shrugged and gave John a shove, moving him closer to the horse. He reached in his jacket, finding a chunk of carrot and offered it to John.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Bo’s steely gaze said otherwise.

John, feeling stupider by the second, fed the carrot to the horse, who was now looking at him with his other very large eye. John immediately wanted to wipe the disgusting wet horse-spit off his hand, but didn’t want Bo to think he was rude.

“Grab the mane with your left hand, right hand here on the saddle, left foot in the stirrup.” It took John several moments to figure it out, but he got it right and Bo clapped him on the back. “Up and over.”

John managed it better than he thought he would, and he was relieved to hit the saddle squarely, until he realized how high up he was.

“Eyes forward,” suggested Bo while he adjusted the stirrups. He made them slightly shorter than he would have done for a more experienced rider: the newbies always wanted to know exactly where their feet were. John was holding onto the pommel, his knuckles white, and his other hand was gripping the horn.

“So do just wanna sit up there, or do you wanna learn?”

John shot him a look, one that conveyed his annoyance but told Bo to continue.

“The horn’s for pussies.” John let go immediately, and immediately felt even more off-balance. “Right hand goes on your thigh, left hand holds the reins.” Because John was a beginner, Bo had selected a single, Romal rein, and he laced it into John’s hand, flipping the long tail over the horse’s back. Then he adjusted John’s foot, slipping his black dress boot backward in the stirrup. “Keep your heels down and your weight on the balls of your feet. Push.” Bo looked on approvingly as John, following the instructions, automatically sat up taller. “How’s it feel?”

 _Like I’m gonna die any fucking second_ , he thought.

“Feels good.”

“Just sit tight.” John watched as Bo walked over to a black-and-tan colored horse, freed its lead, and mounted it with a precision and grace belied by his age and size. John was momentarily jealous; then his horse shifted below him and he snapped his eyes forward, remembering Bo’s instructions as though his life depended on it.

Bo looked back.

“You ready?”

“No.”

Bo grinned.

“As soon as I move, just give a kick.” Bo clucked at his horse once, and it sauntered calmly through the barn door. John gave a tiny kick, hating to hurt an animal, even one as big as this. The horse did nothing, watching as the tail of Bo’s horse flicked out of view around the door frame. John sighed and kicked again, hard this time, and his horse lurched into a rolling walk.

 _Jesus Christ_ , he thought, hanging on tight to the reins, his hands itching to grab onto the saddle horn again. _How do I get myself into these things?_ His horse walked through the barn door and, being the pack animal it was, fell in right beside Bo’s mount.

“Still pushing down with your toes?” asked Bo.

John nodded, concentrating intently. The two men rode along the side of the narrow, paved service road until Bo turned them off along a track into the rolling hills. By John’s reckoning, they were headed back toward Llanview, making a beeline for the downtown area, a few miles away, hidden behind the low hills at the edge of the estate.

“See? It _is_ like riding a bike,” said Bo.

“Yeah, exactly what I was thinking,” huffed John, though in actuality, it reminded him of something else entirely, something that, given his utter lack of romantic entanglements, he had no business even thinking about. Either way, he knew the muscles around his hips were going to hurt later on.

They climbed to the top of a steep ridge. John watched out of the corner of his eye as Bo leaned well forward in the saddle, and quickly copied his movement. Bo looked past him to the right and smiled, enjoying watching John McBain learn something new.

The sun was setting into twilight as they reached the top. On one side lay the expanse of the Buchanan Estate, the barn and white-fenced riding ring, the greenhouse and solarium and the covered tennis court, the staff quarters and the ten-car garage. Further beyond lay the main house, picturesque with smoke billowing up from three of the four chimneys, in the center of the plain beneath the ridge. Below them on the other side of the ridge lay the town of Llanview, the lights coming on and making it look like a miniature village in a toy store. Beyond that lay the sparkling ribbon of the Llantano River, with Pine Valley on the other side.

 _Wish I had my camera_ , thought John.

Working back from the river, John could identify all the landmarks: Angel Square and the ramshackle hotel where earlier today he’d given notice, and the old manufacturing district and the railway yard and the rowhouses south of the square. Scanning west, he took in the grid of downtown streets and tall office and apartment buildings, the courthouse, the PD, and City Hall, the train station and the hospital where his brother worked, and the monstrous pair of parking garages that served them all. Further west was the sprawling high school and the new part of town with its prefabricated tract homes. Coming back around to the north, he saw the tony brownstone townhomes and the old part of town with the white steepled churches and Victorian houses with their triangular roofs, the ones Evangeline had loved.

 _She was going to buy one someday, fix it up._ He shook his head at himself. _You gotta turn that shit off before you make yourself crazy. Just do what you came here to do, dammit._

Looking out at the town he was about to leave behind, he tried, again, to explain his actions, both the legal ones, like obstruction of justice, and the personal ones—outright lying—to his boss and good friend.

“Bo, I know I let you down. I got… caught, caught in the grip of this thing. He’s my—he was my—nephew. If it hadn’t been my brother…” John’s voice faded and then he made himself get it over with. “I knew what I was supposed to do and for the first time in my life I couldn’t make myself do it.”

The older man did his best to assuage John’s guilt.

“John, you did what you thought you had to do.”

“I broke the rules.”

Bo pressed his lips together and looked off into the distance.

“You’re a cop. You like rules, otherwise you wouldn’t be a cop. But there isn’t a rule for every situation. And sometimes you’re going to have to figure it out as it goes along, and…”

“And take what comes.”

“Yeah, take what comes, but what I was going to say is, no matter what happens, know that you did the best you could. Don’t let yourself get eaten up over stuff you can’t control.”

John watched Bo out of the corner of his eye and figured now was as good a time as any to say goodbye.

“This a great place. Thanks for bringing me up here.”

Bo tipped his head back and turned up the collar on his barn jacket. John tensed, knowing from long experience with his boss’ mannerisms that something was coming.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but this was Evangeline’s favorite part of the Estate.”

John’s eyes widened in surprise.

“She used to come out here to ride, every couple months or so. Kevin gave her a standing invitation, years ago, when she first came to town. We’d have loved to see her more, but you know her. She never wanted to take advantage.”

He hadn’t known any of that, but added it up quickly. _That’s where she used to sneak off to so early on Saturday mornings._ _So much for being a great detective._

“Is that why you brought me up here? To tell me that?” John worked hard to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“No. That’s a coincidence. I just wanted you to see what you’re leaving behind.”

John nodded.

“I’m gonna miss it.”

“Then let me put you on extended leave.”

“No. I think we both know I’m done here.”

Bo nodded slowly. He’d had to at least give it a last try. John was only five years older than his son Drew, and it had often given Bo some comfort to think that if Drew hadn’t died so young, he’d have become the kind of cop that John was.

“You’re really going to make me hire a new Chief of Detectives, aren’t you?”

John said nothing, so Bo pulled out all the stops.

“I’m going to miss watching you work, John.”

“Are we really going to do this?” he asked, wondering how Bo had gotten him to even think about riding, much less actually do it. And now it seemed like he wanted to keep talking. _What’s next? We gonna sing cowboy tunes and roast marshmallows?_

“Where are you going to go?”

“I ain’t got a clue.”

John laughed at himself, looking down. For the first time in his adult life, he had no idea what he was going to do next. Even when his fiancée had been murdered, he’d known he was going to be back at his desk as soon as they let him, to take out the animal that had taken her from him.

The horse shifted from hoof to hoof, reminding John of Bo’s instructions and he snapped his eyes up and forward. _Maybe somewhere cold_ , he thought, enjoying the bitter chill.

“I want a call from you once a month. At least.”

John had wondered for many years what it would be like to have a father. _This must be it_ , he thought, letting himself believe it was the cold wind that was making his eyes water.

“And don’t blow me off,” continued Bo. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call your mom.”

“That’s just mean,” grumbled John.

“It’s been a pleasure,” said Bo, turning in the saddle and offering his hand.

John accepted the handshake.

“The pleasure’s been mine,” said John, grimacing. “You’re making this hard.”

“I’m trying to. I don’t want you to go.”

John wondered how Bo could just say what he was feeling, better yet, know what he was feeling and then right there in the moment, be able to say it out loud.

“I have to, Bo.” _Everything’s a reminder here. I need an empty place._

Bo fished in a pocket and came up with two big carrot pieces. He reached across and handed one to John, then leaned down and fed the other carrot to his impatient horse. John followed suit, realizing quickly that the key to staying in the saddle while bending over was pushing against the stirrups with his feet. Watching Bo rub his horse’s neck, he followed suit.

“Hey girl,” he said, giving some reassuring pats.

“Uh, John?” said Bo. “That horse you’re riding? It’s a gelding.”

“What’s that?”

Looking at John, still uncomfortable in the saddle with his city slicker leather coat and the wind blowing the hell out of his hair, Bo bit back a laugh and shook his head.

“You probably don’t wanna know.”

###

The two of them rode silently in the oncoming darkness, back down the ridge toward the barn. This time, John had figured it out by himself, that if you were riding downhill you wanted to lean way back instead of forward, and even though the horses had picked up their pace as they headed home to the barn, he felt comfortable in the saddle. He’d even tried to post a little, moving in time with the horse, as he watched the way Bo rode in front of him.

They’d come back to the barn and dismounted, John very shaky on his legs as they hit the wooden flooring of the barn. He stretched his back while Bo removed all the tack, letting the horses drink. Then he led them to their stalls and fed them, removing their halters and hanging those by the sides of their stalls. His work done, he rubbed his hands together, smiling at John.

“Our turn.”

Bo cracked the wax off the bottle of bourbon and pulled out the cork, then raised the bottle in salute to John and took a big swallow. He took another, smaller drink, then passed the bottle over. John saluted back and took a big drink of his own, feeling it warm him from the inside out. He passed the bottle back to Bo.

“Cook’s grilling hanger steaks tonight. Should be almost ready,” offered Bo, putting the cork back on the bottle.

“Bo, I can’t. I really do have to go.”

Bo pressed his lips together and offered his hand, knowing there was nothing left to say. John accepted the handshake and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug.

“Be well, John.”

“You too, Bo.”

John turned for his car, pushing down on the emotions he felt and conserving his energy. He had one more goodbye to say, to his brother, and it was not going to be easy.


	4. Social Whirl

Meandering down the thickly carpeted corridor toward the ladies’ room, Evangeline thought of how excited she’d been the first time she’d dined at the White House, the day she’d moved away from Llanview. She’d of course taken the tour through the public rooms, years before when she’d first moved to DC, but that first night on Dennis’ arm had been different. Once she was past security, past the metal detectors and standing beside him in the banquet room, it hit her that she had been welcomed into that famous building, whereas her grandparents would have had to enter through a back door, if at all. Midway through the evening, she’d called her mother breathlessly from this very corridor, asking her in a gleeful whisper, _Guess where I am, Mama?_

And now, for the third time, Calvin Williamson’s daughter was an invited guest of the leader of the free world.

 _Even if I didn’t vote for him_ , she thought.

She nodded to the uniformed Marine standing guard at the point where the corridor made a tee with another hallway. He looked like Taye Diggs, only taller, and tougher. He kept his eyes focused precisely to the front, not acknowledging Evangeline at all.

 _Maybe I just don’t got it anymore_ , she thought, putting an extra sashay in her stride as she made her way back to her table. Dennis, of course, was not there; he was working the room. She knew he expected her at his side, but she didn’t feel like playing the one-upmanship games she’d learned were the main course at these events.

The first time he’d brought her here, Dennis had stayed close by the entire night, making it a fairy tale evening on a par with the best of her childhood dreams. _You look so beautiful, Leenie_ , he’d said, helping her out of their car, then escorting her proudly inside and introducing her to a legislative analyst here or a Senate counsel there. She’d known it wasn’t so much a dinner as an extended job interview for her, and she’d held her own. She’d discovered she was a minor celebrity from defending the infamous Mitch Laurence and the unpredictable but ultimately innocent Todd Manning during her tenure in Llanview. Both cases had made the national news. Dennis had watched her carefully from a few steps away, letting her have the limelight, but still not sure she could handle the attention. He’d nodded slightly as she recounted the defense strategies she’d used and pressed his lips together slightly when she answered too many questions about the personalities of her flamboyant clients.

The second time, she’d been mostly on her own. Dennis networked non-stop, leaving Evangeline to her own devices. She quickly found herself annoyed, because Dennis wasn’t attentive like he had been the first time, plus the Eagles were in an important playoff game. She had even toyed with pretending to be sick so she could stay home and watch it, before putting the thought out of her mind and pulling her dress over her head.

During dessert she’d given in to curiosity and gone to the hallway to check the score on her cell phone. Luckily, her team was up 10-7 and then she’d wished out loud to herself that she had a radio. In doing so, she’d met a kindred spirit. The Senior Senator from Wisconsin was lurking in the hallway, getting the play-by-play of the same game from a staffer who’d stayed late at the office for just this purpose. As it turned out, Evangeline and the Senator were both rooting for the Eagles: if the Eagles beat the 49ers, then the Packers would clinch the wildcard slot.

Dennis finally circled back to their table. He’d been amazed and jealous to discover that Senator Mitchell, a portly, balding man, whose looks belied his stature on the Finance Committee, had moved Evangeline over to his table so they could finish their dessert and surreptitiously listen to the game together. Dennis came by to get introduced, then excused himself, not wanting to stand awkwardly at Evangeline’s side. He’d watched from a distance as they clapped and cheered quietly, trying not to be too obvious. Finally, the Eagles won, and Evangeline and the Senator high-fived each other, then gave each other a quick celebratory hug. She’d even gotten a happy kiss from the Senator’s round-faced wife. Soon after, it was time to leave, and Dennis had given Evangeline the silent treatment the whole way home.

Evangeline, conversely, had poked at Dennis. She was annoyed that he was sulking and tried to provoke some kind of response.

“So what was I supposed to do? It wasn’t my table! It would have been rude for me to ask you to sit down!”

Dennis fumed and looked out the window. 

“I see. So I was just supposed to get up and come when you snapped your fingers,” she offered, her voice low.

 _I’m not your damn dog, Dennis. Who do you think you are?_ she’d thought, simultaneously feeling guilty. She’d known he wasn’t going to like it when she joined the Senator at his table. Even as she’d done it, Evangeline heard her mother’s voice admonishing her to put her man first.

Their silence lasted all the way inside his apartment building, past the overnight doorman, into the elevator. Instead of stepping in and turning to face the door, Evangeline leaned up against the wall with her hands pressed behind her, angling her body toward Dennis.

She waited until he glared over her way. Looking him straight in the eye, she licked her lips slowly and raised her chin.

“Apologize to me,” she commanded.

Dennis waited almost a second before pouncing on her, placing hard, sucking kisses up her neck to her ear and running his hand down to her ass. Evangeline let her head drop back to give him more room to work.

 _Who’s the dog now, Dennis?_ she thought triumphantly. The man was so predictable: it was one of his best qualities.

“I am so sorry, Leenie.” He breathed the words into her ear, then pressed her against the wall of the elevator, and she felt how much he wanted her.

Evangeline was overwhelmed with a memory from the night of Todd Manning’s wedding, right after it had been called off, and she and John took the hotel’s elevator to her room. They had been tempting each other all night long, locking eyes and touching each other, at first discreetly, and then less and less so as the night wore on. She remembered the charge that had been between them as they tried to satisfy their desires the best they could, given that they had to stay downstairs, and clothed. The moment the elevator doors had closed, she’d grabbed him into a deep kiss, and he’d surprised her by reaching back and pulling the emergency stop button. And then, he’d walked her to the corner, out of range of the security camera, and lifted her against the wall. He’d looked her right in the eye as he’d pulled her onto him, as though that moment would bind them together for life. In a way, it had: even now, years later, she thought about the way he’d looked and felt, and the small, involuntary noises he’d made. It still made her stomach flip. And that was nothing compared to the way the rest of her body responded.

She’d put both hands to Dennis’ chest and pushed him back.

“Apology accepted.”

He’d tried to kiss her again, but she’d stiffened her arms and kept him back. It was going to be on her terms or not at all. And besides, whatever he thought was going to happen in that elevator couldn’t hold a candle to the time still playing in her head, with John.

Tonight, on their third visit to the White House, Evangeline had come prepared. She’d poured herself a glass of wine before Dennis got home from the office, then, when they went back to his office on the way to the White House—he’d left his favorite tie there—she’d sneaked a quick shot of vodka in the back of the towncar. More wine came with dinner, and by the time it was time for the speeches, Evangeline was actually enjoying herself.

Until Dennis had started regaling their table with the news of their Christmas engagement.

“No, Leenie here was never going to get married,” he crowed.

Evangeline fixed a smile on her face, her stomach sinking that Dennis would share their personal moments with complete strangers.

He’d made a fire, poured champagne, dimmed the lights, and she’d been so wrapped up with decorating his coffee-table-sized Christmas tree that she’d neglected to notice when he’d pulled a small turquoise box from his pocket and put it down on the table in front of her.

“Leenie,” he’d said, standing before her. “I love you.”

She’d known what was inside before she ever picked up the box. Evangeline went through the motions, pulling the white satin ribbon off slowly and lifting the lid, stalling for time.

“Dennis, it’s…” Evangeline had found herself at a loss for words. “You said we could have it all, but we never talked about this. I thought—”

“Are you telling me you want to break Lisa’s heart?”

She’d shaken her head no. Inside her head, she’d screamed _This isn’t about my mother!!!_

“I do understand, Leenie, better than you think. There’s a right way to do this, and if you want to have those kids, we need to do this right.”

“People won’t care if we’re married or not.”

“Leenie, they will care. They already do.”

 _Not fair_ , she’d thought.

“Leenie, listen to me. We are not Steadman and Oprah, here. I want to know what to call you. I want to introduce you to people _as my wife_.”

Evangeline flashed back to a day years ago when she’d said something very similar to John, after they’d come back from her Aunt Rita’s funeral.

_Not knowing what to call you when I introduced you, that’s what made me uncomfortable._

She remembered how John had looked down, not wanting to meet her eyes, and she’d started joking with him to lighten the mood. And after that trip, whenever he’d looked at her, his eyes had been filled with doubt.

 _How can I blame Dennis for feeling the same way as I did?_ she’d wondered at the time.

Evangeline shook off the memory, shifting in her slipcovered chair and wishing for a waiter to appear and refill her glass of wine.

A woman across the table smiled, showing capped white teeth. _Girlfriend’s been visited by the Botox fairy_ , smirked Evangeline. Nothing above the woman’s mouth moved.

“May I see eet?” she’d asked in French-accented English.

The woman held her palm up, wanting to see Evangeline’s engagement ring.

“Naturellment. S’il vous plait.”

Evangeline answered in French and held her hand out to the woman, who inspected the round two-carat stone as Dennis continued with his story, making his proposal more fairy-tale than it actually had been. _I swear that man is practically preening,_ thought Evangeline. The woman had looked back up and nodded, pleased that Evangeline spoke French, then responded in kind.

“C’est un gemme exquis. Il vous adore évidement.” _It is an exquisite stone. He obviously adores you._

Evangeline looked at it again, sparkling even in the dimmed lights of the banquet room. It was beautiful, all right, and it was from Tiffany’s so it had definitely cost a small fortune, but it wasn’t what she would have chosen for herself. She’d have opted for something smaller and more unusual: a tourmaline, or even better, an alexandrite, which she loved because, depending on the light, sometimes they looked green and sometimes they looked lavender. _Alexandrites never have to choose. And they’re even more rare than diamonds. And besides, you never know if a diamond is truly conflict-free._ But the ring had knocked Lisa’s socks off, and that, supposed Evangeline, was worth something.

“Il est très romantique, non?”

For a moment, Evangeline didn’t know if the woman was referring to her ring or to her fiancé. A tip of her blonde chignon indicated Dennis, who caught the word _romantique_ , then nodded as though he understood everything the women were saying.

“Lui? Il est un avocat.” _Him? He’s a lawyer._

“Oh! Tant pis. Peut-être vous pouvez l’enseigner, puis.” _Oh! Too bad. Perhaps you can teach him, then._

“Peut-être,” agreed Evangeline with a sly smile.

“You have found yourself a wonderful woman.” The French woman smiled this at Dennis, who nodded proudly.

Mercifully, the waiter arrived with a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Merlot, pouring his way around the table. Dennis shook his head _no_ at the waiter, not wanting Evangeline to have any more.

“Chardonnay, please,” said Evangeline, overruling him, and Dennis looked away, annoyed.

She took a sip, listening to the French woman talk to the man who accompanied her. He was one of the talking heads on the news channel Dennis watched nonstop. It was odd seeing the man in person: he looked much handsomer, and much bigger, on television. In person, he had a huge head and a tiny body and unnaturally white teeth. _He’s just like one of those bobble-head dolls they give out at the ball game_ , she thought, barely stifling her laugh. _Whooops, time for another trip to the ladies’ room_. She got out of her chair unsteadily. Dennis rose hastily, too, and she wrapped her arms around him. Evangeline could tell he was surprised by her public display, so she upped the ante by giving him a wet kiss and a squeeze before heading off in the direction of the restroom.

They were seated in a different room than they had been the first two times, and on her way out, Evangeline got turned around. She rounded the corner and a Marine in full dress stepped slightly into her path, arms behind his back and his eyes riveted on a spot in the distance beyond her head.

“I’m sorry ma’am. The banquet room is around the corner behind you, or if you’re looking for the restrooms, they are back down this corridor on the right.”

“Ooops,” giggled Evangeline. “Haven’t memorized the joint yet.”

She took a few steps back, then leaned well forward to whisper a secret.

“Do you know what this place really needs?”

Evangeline waited, but he didn’t respond.

“A pool table!”

The Marine said nothing, but finally looked down at her.

“Down that corridor on the right,” he repeated, letting not even a touch of the surprise he was feeling show in his voice.

“Yes, sir!” she shouted, saluting.

Evangeline grinned at him before turning and hurrying down that hall. She really did have to go.

When she came out of the ladies’ room, Dennis was waiting for her, pacing anxiously.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m great!” she laughed, then made her voice seductive. “You of all people should know that, Mr. Lockhart!”

Dennis pressed his lips together. She’d taken a very long time in the bathroom, and he’d gotten worried, then gone in search of her.

“Leenie, what is going on with you?” he whispered tensely.

“Oh, come on, Dennis, where’s your sense of humor?”

“I don’t have a sense of humor,” he snapped. He saw her face fall and he blew out a breath, hating to disappoint her. “But if it is important to you, I will go out and get one, okay?”

“There’s hope for you yet, Dennis Lockhart!” she crowed, giving him a big hug. “Yay!”

###

Evangeline stewed over her out-of-character behavior at the White House for the greater part of two days. Finally, she realized, she was out of her depth. Real-girl advice, like the kind she’d get from Layla, wouldn’t cut it, because Layla always led with her heart and not her head. In that regard, the two sisters were as different as night and day.

But there was one person she knew with similar thought processes, and that woman was the smartest woman she had ever met. In fact, it was Nora Hanen who had taught her you didn’t have to know all the answers on your own if you simply knew the right person to ask.

Evangeline poured herself a big glass of white wine and got the lavender chenille throw from the end of her bed. Then she settled onto her cream-colored chaise and dialed Nora’s number in Llanview. Nora, excited to catch up, let Evangeline chatter on about last weekend’s gala and the charity golf tournament where she’d seen Greta Van Susteren, until Nora could wait no more.

“I can’t believe you’re not talking about all the wedding stuff. Nothing about the dress, nothing about the hall, nothing about the cake… it’s not normal!”

“Well,” replied Evangeline dryly. “You should be expecting that with me. When have I ever been _normal_ about anything?”

“Never, but I wanna hear about the cake!” laughed Nora. “What is it? Second thoughts? Pre-wedding jitters? Cold feet?” 

Evangeline said nothing. 

“All three??”

“How did you know when it was the real thing with Hank?”

“You really are having second thoughts?”

“You know me, I’m already on my fourth and fifth thoughts.” Evangeline smirked and Nora laughed. “Oh, Nora, you know I want to be with him…”

“You know, besides the fact that there was a Dennis, you’ve never told me anything about him? How did you first connect?”

###

It had started early, Evangeline’s need to be in control. Between junior high and high school, her family had moved to a new town. They weren’t the first African-American family to move into Highland Park, but they were the first African-American family with school-age children. Calvin and Lisa Williamson had moved for one reason and one reason only: to make sure Evangeline would have the best possible chance of getting into an Ivy League school. And the schools in Highland Park were nationally ranked.

There were other people of color at Evangeline’s new high school, but you could count them all on both hands. And she’d discovered quickly that most of the boys who showed any interest just wanted to be able to say they’d nailed the black chick, and the rest, you could never be sure if that was all they were after, too.

Curious as any other teen with raging hormones, but not wanting to be someone’s novelty, she’d made herself unavailable—completely unavailable—and kept her head held high when they called her _frigid_ or _tight_ in the hallways.

She’d finally lost the battle with her curiosity in college. The environment at Stanford was diverse and stimulating, but Evangeline remained cautious, and because she hadn’t forgotten the way she’d been treated in high school, more than a bit calculating. She’d had a lot of first dates and met her share of attractive, interesting men. At the beginning of her sophomore year, she’d chosen carefully, selecting a boy who was cute but not too cute, smart but not too smart, one that would be grateful to be with her, and maybe just a little insecure, afraid to lose her. In addition to being a great dancer and having a sharp sense of humor, Lawrence Brinkley had met those specifications perfectly. They quickly became inseparable, losing their virginity together in his dorm room the night before she was to fly back east for winter break. They both counted the days until she returned to California, and picked up where they’d left off. And during the next years, on the few occasions he forgot the rules, her rules, she reminded him of exactly what he’d be missing if he didn’t snap it back in line, pronto.

Lawrence had always been smart enough to comply.

And then, with graduation looming, he had taken her to a very expensive dinner at a rooftop restaurant in The City and in front of a room full of strangers, gotten down on one knee, and proposed.

Evangeline had always been different from the other girls. Even as a grade-schooler, she never wanted the bride costume when she played dress-up with her friends. As a teen, she never fantasized about a knight in shining armor riding his white horse to her rescue, ready to make her life complete. The other girls watched the soaps, all swoony and giggly over some blowdried hunk wearing eyeliner, and Evangeline just rolled her eyes walked on by. She didn’t believe in fairy tales or romance or love at first sight. She used her head and not her heart, and was comfortable that way. By controlling the depth of her relationships, she controlled how much she might get hurt if things went south.

And beyond those differences, she was smart and ambitious. She had plans, big plans, and Lawrence Brinkley wasn’t a part of them.

Law school was pretty much the same, with a lot of first dates and just a couple of near-misses. But no man was ever enough to make her lose sight of her goal. She was going to clerk for the United States Supreme Court and submitted her application at the beginning of her second year.

She got the posting and moved to DC right after graduation. It had taken seven long years of incredibly hard work to get there. Always the planner, she anticipated the hard work that was coming in the fall and kept her to-do list short: there were only three items on it. She would work at Legal Aid, take it easy for a couple months, and have some fun. She’d earned the right to let her guard down, for a change.

And thus relaxed, she’d been completely unprepared for Marcus Wells, the next man in her life.

### 

Evangeline curled herself deeper into her cream-colored chaise and tucked the chenille throw tighter around her cold feet. She’d been on the phone to Nora for half an hour, and they were just getting to the important part.

“So you know I clerked for Justice O’Connor. I moved to DC right after graduation and with the last semester of law school, and all those interviews and then studying for the bar exam, I was ready to let off a little steam.”

“Sounds reasonable,” ventured Nora.

“So I worked at Legal Aid during the day, and you have to have a social life, right? I pretty much partied all night over the summer. I told myself I’d earned it, and it was only for a little while, because the session reconvenes—”

“—The first Monday in October.” The two women said it in unison and Evangeline nodded. 

“Oh, Nora. This is going to sound so shallow. His name was Marcus. He was really something, like movie-star hot. He had a BMW and he would never once let me pay for anything, not that I needed his money. But I just didn’t get it. I just didn’t know.”

The tone in Evangeline’s voice was unmistakable. The District Attorney in Nora knew exactly what was coming next. She'd heard this story many times before.

“How soon did it start?”

“About a month in he accused me of two-timing him with a co-worker. He’d come by to take me out to lunch and I’d already gone with Seth, and God, he was furious. And I felt so bad, I tried to explain.” Evangeline put her hand to her forehead. “Can you imagine?”

“You were young.”

“No, I was stupid. And he picked me up from work that night and drove me home and let me have it. Afterwards, I had to wear turtlenecks for a couple of weeks, even though it was the middle of summer.”

There was a long pause as Nora weighed her question.

“I can heaaaar you thinking, Nora Hanen,” laughed Evangeline. “Why didn’t I leave him right then?”

“Bingo!”

“I did what I always do. I thought about it logically. And I decided that everyone makes mistakes, anything can happen once. And he was truly sorry. I didn’t know then that it was just part of the pattern.”

“The honeymoon phase.”

“Exactly. And I was so sure it was just a terrible mistake, just a complete aberration, that I totally didn’t see it coming the second time.”

“Oh, Vange. I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I was. The second time, he broke my nose.”

Nora gasped on the other end of the line.

“That’s not even the worst part.”

“Oh, God, Evangeline, did he—”

“No, Nora, no. Absolutely not.”

“Thank God.”

“But I was so humiliated that outside of my boss, I didn’t tell anyone. I found a plastic surgeon and got my nose fixed. A friend stayed with me until I could move apartments, go someplace that Marcus wouldn’t dare bother me. And then I didn’t go outside for six weeks, until my face looked normal again. And the session started about a week after that, and then I just threw myself into my work.”

“You didn’t even tell your parents?”

“No.” Evangeline’s voice rang with shame.

“Why not?”

“My dad was already sick then, and I felt guilty—”

“You _know_ you didn’t cause this,” snapped Nora. It was a statement and not a question.

“No, but I figured my mom would find a way to blame me. I didn’t trust her then. She and my dad were always fighting and I took his side.”

“So you had no one.”

“No one except Dez.”

“Dez?”

“He’s the friend that stayed with me.”

“A _friend_.”

“Just a friend. Never anything more.”

Evangeline answered the unasked question in Nora’s tone.

“Well for one thing, he’s a lot older. And for another, he’s a gentleman.”

“Can I have his number?” They both laughed. “So where does our Dennis come in?”

“I met Dennis through work. There were a bunch of us, all from similar backgrounds, all of us new to DC, and we went places in a group. No pairing up or anything. And after about a year of being friends, Dennis took me aside and told me that he wanted to take care of me. Just like that. He took it slow. And bit by bit, he got me to trust again, and he did. He took really good care of me.”

Nora wasn’t saying anything.

“So are you shocked?”

“About the boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Naw. I kind of knew that about you.” Nora hadn’t known the details, but she hadn’t been surprised to hear… she’d figured it out when Evangeline won her award from Penn.

“Is it that obvious?” Evangeline was momentarily horrified: she never wanted this part of her to show.

“No, of course not.”

“So how did you know?”

“Women don’t found programs for other battered women by accident.”

Evangeline laughed at herself.

“Right. God, Nora you don’t know how weird it is telling you about this, I’ve never told anyone.”

Now Nora was surprised.

“Not even John?”

“Especially not John.”

“Umhmm, right,” said Nora, getting it right away.

Evangeline sighed, really missing Nora, missing the way she and her best friend could communicate without filling in all the words. Evangeline had known instinctively that hearing about her history would only cause John pain. And Evangeline wasn’t that same girl anymore, anyway. She hated even thinking about how stupid she’d been back then.

“So if Dennis takes such great care of you, why all the second thoughts?”

“Well, if you didn’t think I was shallow before, you will now.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait. Evangeline the Bad Girl. More!” Both women laughed.

“It is kind of bad. You know, even before, but especially after Marcus, I was so careful to choose them.”

“So you could call the shots, you mean?”

“Pretty much.” Evangeline bit her lip. “Awful, I know.”

“Actually, it makes a kind of sense, given what you’ve been through.”

Evangeline weighed her next words and Nora, as usual, got impatient.

“So you choose them. You chose Dennis, and…”

“And most of the time, it’s good that he’s predictable. I know what to expect. But some of the time, I get… bored.”

“You’re right. That is bad!” Nora laughed again. “Is it the sex?”

“I’ve always loved that about you, Nora. You cut right to the chase.”

“Sue me. Life is short.”

“Let me put it this way: it is not the worst sex I’ve ever had.”

“But not the best. Your Honor, let the record reflect the witness indicates that Dennis is not the best sex she’s ever had!”

Evangeline laughed with Nora, glad she’d had the glass of wine early in their conversation. It had helped her open up, especially to herself. Nora continued.

“Let me guess. Is it someone I know? Someone tall, dark, handsome, with a killer smile and the most incredible blue eyes anyone has ever seen?”

Evangeline spoke no words but her sigh said it all.

The only time she had just let things happen, let it be organic and let herself feel—fall—instead of think, that had been with John. Their first encounter was unplanned and almost accidental; their second time was much the same, though she’d come to him, made the first move. But she hadn’t chosen him with her head, she hadn’t had time to think it through and hold herself back, and as a result, she’d been vulnerable to him from the very beginning. She’d never opened herself that way to any other man, and the times it had worked between them, the times they’d been together, truly together, were the best, most fulfilling times of her life.

“So it wasn’t _boring_ with John, I take it.” Nora’s voice was pointed.

“No ma’am. Not boring.” Evangeline felt her body respond, thinking back to exactly how not boring it had been. _I still remember how he felt, how he smelled, the sounds he made when he…_ Evangeline let the moment wash over her, let it pass, then remembered how she’d thought things were going to turn out so differently. “That’s one of the reasons I tried so hard with him. I thought because I didn’t get bored and I didn’t want to be in control all the time, I thought it meant I was really in love.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really missed it.”

“What? What did I miss?”

“The John McBain I know never lets _anyone_ tell him what to do. I don’t think you ‘controlled’ him by any means, but when he was with you, he let you call the shots. You don’t know what he was like before you came to town. But he _never_ just laid up: he was always in charge. Look at Natalie. She pushed him and he told her right where to get off, every single time. Some of us saw their fights, and I gotta tell you, no question who was wearing the pants in that relationship.”

Nora paused briefly for a breath.

“Evangeline, you decided the two of you were together, you decided when the two of you were apart… he did practically whatever you wanted. Why can’t you see that?”

“Why? Because the one thing I really wanted, he never gave to me. I’d tell him how I felt and he’d say… nothing. He was always pulling back from me!”

“Maybe because he was afraid if he did give you that, you’d pull back from him.”

 _Why would he think that?_ Evangeline’s analytical brain was working fast, filling in the blanks.

“You’re saying he knows? How would he know about what happened to me?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s just afraid, period, and it has nothing to do with you. But think about it, Evangeline, it’s his _job_ to know stuff like that about people.”

“No. Our issues were more about him than they were about me.”

Nora kept her voice gentle.

“It takes two. Maybe he wasn’t telling you stuff because he knew there was stuff you weren’t telling him.”

There was a long silence as Evangeline processed what Nora was saying. Nora broke the silence first.

“So let me make sure I’ve got this all. You’re bored. And the sex is bad.”

“Nora!” laughed Evangeline. “It’s not _bad_. Dennis and I are just a little out of sync. And the relationship stuff is more important anyway.”

“Oh dear. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten what truly great sex feels like?”

“No, of course not,” said Evangeline. “But I’ve never been one to do my thinking between my legs.”

“Smart girl,” agreed Nora. “But I gotta say, maybe choosing a man simply because you can control him is not a great recipe for intimacy.”

 _Yeah. And not a great recipe for a lasting marriage, either_ , thought Evangeline.

###

Evangeline watched, coolly sipping her ice water, as her mother clasped Dennis’ arm. She was laughing excitedly at the joke he was telling. Evangeline had heard this particular joke several times already. It wasn’t that funny, and even though it was the second time since they’d sat down for brunch, she was relieved when Dennis’ phone rang before he got to the punch line.

“You can’t leave me, Dennis, I need to know how it ends!”

“I will be right back, Miz Lisa. Don’t you worry!”

She patted his arm and shook her head, turning to smile at his back as he took his call toward the hotel lobby. The minute he stepped past the hostess stand, Lisa Williamson turned on her daughter.

“So tell me, Cookie. Does he always abandon you like this?”

“Mom!” cried Evangeline, her shoulders slumping against the banquette. “I can’t believe this.”

Lisa hated traveling alone, so she’d driven north with her brother-in-law, Clay Williamson, to visit both of her daughters. They’d gone to see Layla in Llanview for a few days, then stayed overnight in DC on their way back south. With the distraction of the wedding-planning talk last night, Lisa hadn’t been certain, but now she could see that something was not quite right about her oldest daughter.

“Evangeline,” replied Lisa, her tone warning. “It is a valid question.”

“Are any of them ever going to be good enough for you?” she hissed. Evangeline immediately regretted saying it: as far as her mother knew, there had only been Lawrence, way back at Stanford, Dennis, John, and Cristian. And of them, only Dennis had been what her mother would have called a suitable match.

“Any of them?” asked Lisa, archly.

Evangeline took a deep breath.

“Mama, you’re always on me about finding a man and giving you those grandbabies. Now I’ve done that, and you’re still not satisfied???”

Lisa took a deep breath of her own and looked at her brother-in-law for support. He raised his eyebrows, so she continued.

“Baby, you need to do what’s right for you.”

They both knew what she was talking about, but Evangeline dared her mother with her eyes to say it out loud.

“I don’t want you marrying this man for me,” said Lisa. Evangeline glared at her mother as much as she dared. “It’s hard enough to stay married, Cookie, but I don’t see how, if you don’t love—”

“Of course I _love_ him, Mom. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Evangeline’s face was a picture of barely-restrained hurt. Lisa’s eyes darted across to Clay, then back to Evangeline. She started slowly and carefully, not wanting to push her oldest daughter past the point of listening.

“Cookie, please. You know we want the best for you. And you’re so smart.” She smiled and reached for her daughter’s hand, clutched tightly around her napkin. “But if you make this decision with your head, what happens to your heart?”

Evangeline, caught, said nothing. _My heart just gets me into trouble_ , she thought. She spoke exactingly.

“Dennis is everything you always wanted for me.” She turned her head toward her mother, meeting her worried eyes. “You told me so yourself. He will take care of me—good care of me, and it’s going to be fine. We’re going to be happy.”

Clay and Lisa looked across at each other again, and Lisa nodded. She leaned over to kiss Evangeline’s cheek and give her a little squeeze.

“I know you will, baby.” She gave her daughter a big hug, squeezing her tight before pulling back and looking into her face. Then she turned to Clay. “I’m going to the ladies’. I’ll be right back.”

Lisa slid gracefully out of the booth and walked toward the lobby, veering right toward the ladies’ lounge. Peoples’ heads turned to follow her attractive figure and regal bearing, wondering who she was.

Clay squeezed Evangeline’s hand to get her full attention.

“Your mama won’t ask, but I will. Are you very sure about this?”

“Oh, Uncle Clay, not you, too!”

“Does he make you happy?”

Evangeline pulled her hand away and shook her head angrily.

“Why do you all suddenly have a problem with Dennis?” she burst out.

“Cookie, I don’t have a problem with Dennis.” She looked up at him with doubt. “If I have a problem, it’s about how _you_ are when you’re with him.”

She blew out a breath.

“And that is?”

Clay spoke quietly but no less determinedly.

“You seem…” Evangeline said nothing, waiting him out while he struggled to choose his words. “I have seen you happier.”

“Happier. I see. And when was that?” She bit out the words, and for a moment, Clay held himself back. “When, Uncle Clay?”

“What happened with John?”

Evangeline’s mouth opened in shock. _Why is he bringing up ancient history?_

Clayton Williamson had started off unimpressed with John McBain, but had come to admire John’s backbone, and beyond that, had recognized the depth of John’s feeling for his niece. Even if the fool hadn’t recognized it himself.

Clay saw her surprise, and explained himself.

“You were happier then, Cookie. What happened?”

 _I don’t know_ , she thought. _We just couldn’t make it work._

Clay didn’t take his eyes off his niece, waiting for her response.

“I don’t know, Uncle Clay. We just wanted different things.”

“I just met him the once, but it seems to me like the only thing that man really wanted was _you_ , Cookie.”

Evangeline watched her uncle carefully, digesting the new piece of information.

“Are you still in touch with him?”

She shook her head.

“You read about his brother, in the papers?” Clay nodded. “Afterward, John just quit and left town. No one even knows where he is anymore.”

“He just disappeared, huh? When?”

“I don’t know. Right about the same time I moved here.” Then she shook her head in frustration. “Look, Uncle Clay, he is all in the past!”

Clay nodded sagely. She hadn’t told him why they’d broken up, but through her evasion, he’d gotten the information he needed. He took her hand again, then placed his other hand on top, rubbing hers gently.

“I will tell you this, because no one ever told me, and I didn’t learn it until it was too late. The person you choose to spend the rest of your life with, that is the most important decision you will ever make.”

Evangeline shook her head again, frustrated to be on the receiving end of so much unexpected, well-intentioned, meddling damn advice.

“I _love_ him, Uncle Clay.”

Seeing Dennis walking back toward them with Lisa on his arm, Clay squeezed his niece’s hand one last time.

“Be careful with this choice, Evangeline. It is the difference between a happy life, and an unhappy one.”


	5. Broad Shoulders

John walked east along the river toward Lake Michigan, his coat open despite the cold. His only concessions to the weather were the leather gloves and a pair of thick boots he’d bought, recently enough that they both still looked new. He’d found that without gloves, his fingers stopped working, due more to the incessant wind than the biting cold. And unlike in Llanview, the snow in Chicago tended to turn to slush, so without waterproof boots, his feet were constantly wet and frozen.

 _Bo’d give me a hard time_ , he thought. _Still no hat._

When he’d first left Llanview, John’s body was so used to being on the job that he woke up at 6:45 every morning without so much as an alarm clock in the room. It had annoyed him, and he never could get back to sleep. Now, almost a month later, he woke early when he wanted and slept late when he wanted. Being able to do things on his own schedule, for the first and only time in his adult life, was a freedom he’d never before experienced, and he’d been making the most of it.

Today he’d woken up reasonably early and been out walking all morning. He loved the architecture in Chicago, especially the old buildings, but also the new ones, which was a surprise for him. Early on, John had taken several of the architecture tours intended for tourists, and memorized the routes. Checking his watch, he calculated that he didn’t have time to walk all the way to the lake if he wanted to get lunch before his afternoon’s activities.

 _Too bad I have to head home first,_ he thought. _Home, such as it is._

He’d found a residential hotel in Greektown, tucked neatly into the corner made by the interchange of the Kennedy and Eisenhower Expressways. It was better than the first place he’d lived. The window of that place had looked directly out onto the El line. The times the train thundered by, it seemed to take up more space in that tiny apartment than John did.

The exterior of the building he’d ultimately selected was, in keeping with Chicago tradition, timeless brick. The interior was frozen in early 1978, right down to the faded “Saturday Night Fever” poster that hung in the lobby. Other than the poster and the fact that the ugly shag carpeting in the lobby was greenish-grey instead of ochre yellow, his new home was shockingly similar to his old one in Angel Square. But it was cheap and close to the river, and a short train ride to downtown.

John wasn’t ready to turn for home just yet, so he found a bench and sat down, watching the few barges and the tour boats snake up and down the calm, green waterway. He came here almost every day. It was one of the things that kept him in Chicago.

He smirked at himself, remembering how he’d had no real destination in mind the day he’d left Llanview, other than knowing he needed to get on the highway going west. He’d left before breakfast, grabbing a coffee at the 24-hour convenience store across the street from the Angel Square Hotel. He’d popped the lid off and carefully tried the first two sips, then replaced the top as he walked determinedly to his car in the morning frost.

Then he’d driven out of Llanview, looking back only to watch the sun rise in his rear view mirror. Twelve hours later, he’d made it as far as Chicago, ready to get out of the car, drink a beer, eat a burger, find a bed, and crash hard for the night, in exactly that order.

The next morning he’d decided to take in the sights. His previous trips to Chicago had been work-related, both for the Bureau and on behalf of Blair Cramer, and both times he’d seen more of the insides of hotel rooms, government offices, and police stations than he had of anything else. So he’d treated himself to a leisurely breakfast, then headed downtown to check out the Sears Tower and the other skyscrapers, found himself in front of the Christmas-decorated store windows on State Street, got turned around on Adams Street and instead of returning to his hotel, ended up in front of the Art Institute and its famous bronze lions. He’d remembered dimly that his favorite painting, Edward Hopper’s _Nighthawks_ , was in the collection of this museum, and on a whim, decided to go in and see it.

He’d found it, larger and much more detailed than he would have imagined from the pictures he’d seen, and also the Chagall windows and several Van Goghs and the famous Seurat, also much larger in life than he’d imagined. He’d walked quietly from room to room, more relaxed than he’d been in years, with no agenda and no time limit of his own. Reading a discarded map as a maroon-jacketed guard gently told visitors that the museum was closing, John discovered the lower floor of the museum was largely taken up by a photography collection, and he knew he’d be back the next day. And he’d come back again, the day after that, before deciding he’d better find a slightly more permanent living arrangement.

He’d also gotten a job, strictly part time, doing surveillance and skip tracing for a private investigator on the North Side. Bill Nyeland was a friend of a friend from the Bureau, and they’d been put in touch when John came to Chicago to look for Todd Manning. The older man was a throwback to an earlier time in the FBI, one before computers and statistical analysis, and especially before profiling. In Nyeland’s era, there was just legwork, and now, he was getting too old to do even that.

The two men communicated mostly by phone and it paid John’s bills plus a little bit extra, mostly because there were so few bills. But the real draw was that John’s hours were largely his own.

As he procrastinated a few more seconds, John’s sixth sense fired; he was sure he was being watched. From habit, he rose and walked to the railing at the water’s edge, turning nonchalantly 360 degrees to flush out whoever had triggered the feeling. Seeing nothing but a big yellow dog as it wandered away, he shook the feeling off.

 _You’re not a cop, anymore_ , he reminded himself. _Stand the fuck down._

###

The afternoon had turned into an evening and then a late-night surveillance. It was a contentious divorce case with serious money at stake, so the husband was being extra cautious about seeing his girlfriend. As soon as John got his shots, the husband’s lawyer would be forced to fold.

 _Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy_ , thought John. He’d seen the photos of what the man had done to the woman he’d once vowed to love and cherish, forsaking all others. In some ways, with the domestic violence cases, it was better not to be a cop. A cop had to follow the rules. A cop couldn’t give the guy a taste of his own medicine. Worse yet, the rules often meant these guys would get away with it, over and over.

But in his current role, using only his brain and his camera, he could take this jerk down and make sure he stayed down. And maybe give the wife some financial dignity in the process.

John’s mind drifted, right smack over to the open wound that was his ex-girlfriend. _Evangeline._ He’d had one of his dreams about her, one of the awful ones, and afterwards he hadn’t even tried to go back to sleep.

_He forced the first door, then pushed the door to the gym open cautiously. He held his Glock at the ready, not knowing what kind of hell he would find on the other side. It was dark at the edges of the basketball court, but the smell of gasoline was unmistakable, and that meant fire. John hated fire, for good reason._

_He jumped in, gun held high and his finger inside the trigger guard, taking in the scene. Evangeline was tied somehow to the pole of the basketball hoop and the asshole who had taken her had put her in some kind of cheerleading costume. Fires had been set atop a makeshift stage. The flames licked dangerously close to her legs. John turned 360 degrees, visually clearing the area. Natalie was here, too, dressed the same, but the fire was burning hotter and higher around her._

_He could tell that Natalie’s stage had been lit afire first, and toxic smoke rose ever closer to her face._

_The two uniforms he’d sent around the other side of the gym were nowhere to be found. It was entirely up to him._

_John stood, torn, between the two women. His body leaned visibly toward Evangeline, who was still fighting, trying to get away, and he started toward her, only to look back over at Natalie. Natalie’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped against the pole. The only thing keeping her upright was the chain that bound her in place._

_She needs me more, he thought, and that was all the thinking he did. The rest was automatic: he holstered his gun, threw off his jacket and ran to Natalie, releasing her arms from the chain and carrying her to safety. He barely stayed by her side to make sure she was still alive before racing to his love, his Evangeline, and freeing her._

_She didn’t say anything as he carried her from the fires, and John started to panic. He shouted at her, not knowing if she was hurt or not._

_Moments later, Bo Buchanan burst in with a couple of uniforms close behind. As John clutched Evangeline to him, the gym filled with people: the first responders from 15 Truck and a crew of EMTs. Policemen, working in teams of two, combed the scene looking for the suspect._

_And Natalie was nowhere to be found._

John shifted behind the wheel, stretching his legs as best he could. It had been a while since he’d had that dream, the one that put the lid on the coffin of what he and Evangeline had. It was the same every time. Never once, in all of the dozen or so times he’d relived that awful experience in his sleep, had he ever rescued Evangeline first.

 _More proof that it wasn’t meant to be_ , he thought.

Years had passed. Years. John knew that it was long past time to move on, to try to find someone else to fumble through life with. It wasn’t that easy, though. He still missed her. He still missed who he used to be when he was with her.

 _Wonder what she’s doing right now?_ he mused, knowing it had to be something more worthwhile than what he was doing. _It’s Wednesday. She probably defended the little guy, helped the downtrodden, did something important._ The underlying truth ate at him: she’d been able to leave the Llanview part of her life behind, easily and painlessly. And it had obviously started long before he’d finally found out about the reason why, that night at Rodi’s.

Tired of waiting, and wanting a distraction from his current thoughts, John started his car and parked it in an open space behind the man’s Mercedes. He got out and rocked the Mercedes with his hip, hard enough to set off the alarm. Then he ran back to the GTO and laid low behind the wheel, camera in hand. Sure enough, the man came out in his shoes and boxer shorts, pulling a bomber jacket on as he ran toward his car. The girlfriend, spilling out of her thin negligee, came running out behind him. The man looked up and down the street, visibly relieved that his car wasn’t damaged, then clicked the remote to make the alarm stop.

The girlfriend shivered in the cold and they both laughed as the man took off his coat and pulled it around her, stopping to squeeze her breasts. Girlfriend threw her head back, further exposing her cleavage, then rewarded the man with a deep kiss. When he grabbed her ass, she wrestled herself free and took off running back to the open doorway. The man chased her, laughing, back inside.

John captured it all and headed back to Greektown. One quick upload to Nyeland’s account, and he’d be over at Dugan’s well before last call.

###

Twenty years ago, Dugan’s had been a cop bar, mostly because the neighborhood was dangerous if you weren’t armed. Nowadays, it was more of a neighborhood place, filled with a mix of students, locals, and county employees. Cops still came by in the late-night hours and they always nodded at John as they passed. Somehow they could always tell about him. He always nodded back.

He sat in the corner made by the bar and the wall, near the rails that marked off the waitress stand, though Dugan’s wasn’t the kind of place that would ever have a waitress.

John rubbed his face and blinked his eyes, trying to stay awake. The last couple nights had been bad in the sleep department. He’d been having long, torturous dreams that left him unrested and anxious. Now, he nursed another beer, trying to make sure that when he got home, he would be too tired to dream.

He’d been in Chicago just under a month. It had a respectable-sized river, really cold air, and a decent joint where he could knock one back after work. The place had everything he needed, save the one thing he needed but would never get.

It wasn’t bad. But it was like being in limbo. He had stopped making plans for himself a long time ago, and the result was that everything around him was temporary.

_When I lost my wife, I had the job. Then I lost the job, and now I got nothing._

He’d never been much of a joiner, but now, even he could admit he was adrift. He’d never been this independent, this alone before, and if he was going to be honest about it, it scared him.

He decided to give himself a time limit.

 _Six months._ If he hadn’t moved on, figured out what to do for work and made some progress in the relationship department, it would be time to move on and start over somewhere else.

Brian rang the fire bell behind the bar and shouted a half-hearted last call. His remaining customers were there precisely because they knew what time it was: none of them needed the extra reminder. John stood up stiffly. He retrieved his coat from the hook on the wall, and as he rounded the bar, Brian slid a shot of whiskey over toward him.

“It’s cold outside. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks.”

John shot the whiskey, letting it warm him from the inside.

“Merry Christmas,” said John, saluting the bartender.

He didn’t put on his coat as he shouldered the door open. It was shockingly cold outside, too cold to snow, and he welcomed the company of the chill for his short trip home.

He walked, unhurried, his coat tucked under his arm, the two blocks back to his tiny apartment. He watched his breath come out in white puffs, then trail behind him. He enjoyed the quiet: even the expressways were empty. _Everyone has somewhere to be on Christmas Eve, everyone except me._

He crossed the street diagonally, wanting to look at the lights in the windows of the two apartment buildings on the other side. He strolled by, hands in his pockets, catching his reflection in the plate glass.

 _Nothing to see here. Move along_ , he thought to himself.

He picked up the pace, moving past the second building, when he spotted a Christmas tree lying in the dirty snow at the edge of the alley. Looking closer, he could see that it was just the top of a tree that someone had cut off, probably to make it fit in their low-ceilinged apartment, then tossed out the window to the street below.

John didn’t usually do holidays, didn’t go for that crap.

 _But when it falls into your lap, that’s different_ , he thought.

He picked up the tiny tree and brushed off the clumps of ice, then carried it home.

He set it on the small counter of the kitchenette, propping it up against the wall-mounted cabinet, then stood back to observe.

_Needs something._

He reached back for his wallet and took out the photographs he kept stowed in there. One by one, he leaned them carefully on the branches of the tree.

_Me and Tommy._

_Dad._

_And Evangeline._

He turned off the lights and pulled off his outer layer of clothes, then slid under the single blanket, hoping he wouldn’t dream.

###

_John kicked his heels against the horse, urging it up the steep incline. He rode to the top of the ridge, where the spring wind blew strongly, and looked out over the expanse of Llanview. It was as picturesque as he remembered, but being up here made him nostalgic, and more than a little sad. He squeezed the horse with his legs and turned, putting his back to the town, so they walked along the ridge that ringed this side of the Buchanan Estate. He headed for the trees that marked the border between the Estate and the Llantano Mountain Preserve._

_His eyes swept side-to-side from long habit. He was so busy surveilling and not taking in the view that he almost missed her._

_Evangeline, John breathed to himself. What is she doing this far out? There wasn’t another horse tied up nearby, and it was way too far to walk._

_He cut down the ridge, directly over to where she sat, then pulled the horse to a stop in front of her. He didn’t bother to control his curiosity._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_She smiled, and her face lit up. John sucked in a breath. It had been so long since she looked at him like that, and he didn’t trust that it was for him._

_“I’ve been waiting on you, McBain.”_

_He wondered if he was supposed to dismount and sit with her. Or maybe, she wanted to come to him. His question was answered when she stood and shook the leaves from her full skirt, then stepped forward, eyeing the saddle._

_Because it was a dream, John knew instinctively how to get her up on that horse. He slipped his left foot out of the stirrup and leaned down, linking their forearms. John pulled while Evangeline pushed against the stirrup, scrambling up and swinging her leg over in front of John in the saddle. He held her, the hand with the reins tight around her waist, making sure she couldn’t fall. He switched the reins back to the proper hand but didn’t let her go. Then he spoke into her ear. His deep voice barely came out above a whisper, because he didn’t want it to betray everything he was feeling._

_“Ready?”_

_Evangeline answered by leaning back into him and resting her head in the curve of his neck._

_John imagined she had no idea what that simple movement did to him. He made sure to control his breathing. Giving the horse a kick, he followed the split-rail fence at the perimeter of the Estate._

_After a few minutes of silence, he could stand it no more._

_“Am I going the right way?”_

_“Perfect,” replied Evangeline. “Just a little further.”_

_Whatever their destination was, John didn’t want to get there, because it would mean the closeness they’d been sharing would be over._

_Another two minutes and they neared a large tree, one rooted on the Buchanan side of the fence._

_“Here,” said Evangeline._

_John reined the horse to a halt and waited, unsure what to do._

_Evangeline tipped her head up and kissed him softly, her lips warm and feathery against his jawline. Then she threw her right leg over and rolled gracefully to her stomach. She slid down the horse’s side, hanging on by the saddle horn, then dropping the last few feet to the soft grass. John followed her example, then led the horse to the fence and tied him. He pulled a few carrot pieces from his pocket and fed them to the impatient animal, who devoured them and started pulling at the small flowering grasses at his feet._

_When John turned around, Evangeline was spreading a blue quilt underneath the tree._

_“Where’d you get that?” he asked._

_Evangeline just smiled._

_“You don’t need to know everything,” she smirked. “You always think you do, but you don’t.”_

_I don’t know anything, Evangeline, he thought. Never did._

_He stepped forward, moving toward the blanket, then stopped. Evangeline, her hands on her hips, shook her head at him. She rolled her eyes and sighed, annoyed by his hesitation, then closed the distance between them and took both of his hands. Looking up at him, she drew him back to the center of the blanket, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him full on the mouth. Still kissing him, she pulled him down, lying on the quilt with him between her legs._

_John’s heart was pounding so loud in his ears he couldn’t think. Evangeline kept kissing him and he kissed her back, not knowing where things were going. He was afraid she wouldn’t like it if he went any further, but she showed no signs of slowing down._

_John was never lucky like this, not in life and especially not in love. The uncertainty of the moment was too much for him. He broke their kiss and touched his forehead to hers. He had to close his eyes in order to make the words come out._

_“Evangeline, it can’t be this easy,” he whispered._

_She smiled a small, expectant smile at him and spoke softly._

_“Yes, John, it is. It’s exactly this easy.”_

_He opened his eyes and looked down at her, wanting so much to believe but as always, holding himself back, unable to cross that threshold. Evangeline, seeing the familiar doubt on his face, bit her lip. The sadness in her returned gaze brought John up short._

_Because it was a dream, this time he knew what to do about it._

_He rolled away from her, to the side, and picked one of the flowers. It looked like a miniature daisy, shorter and with a thinner stem. When he rolled back, a tear was sliding slowly down Evangeline’s cheek._

_“No, Evangeline, no.” He hadn’t been leaving; did she really think he would leave her like this? John turned her chin so she had to look at him. He wiped the tear away with a gentle finger, then held the flower between their faces and said the words he’d always wanted to be able to say out loud._

_“I love you.”_

_She took the flower from him and opened her mouth to speak, but he put the wet fingertip to her lips. Then he reached over and picked another flower._

_“I love you.”_

_Evangeline tipped her head to the side, then twisted the two flowers together. John picked another flower, and another, each time presenting it to her, sometimes kissing her fingertips as she accepted it, but each time, over and over again, saying “I love you.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you.”_

_Each time, Evangeline twisted the new flower against the previous one, making a long chain. When there were no more flowers within an arm’s length of the blanket, she reached for John’s belt buckle, feeling his hardness through the thick denim of his jeans. Moments later they were down around his calves and she hovered above him, making sure her tiered skirt was out of the way, before reaching behind and guiding him to her, to her center where he belonged._

_She made soft noises as he entered her, making her his once again. He had kept his eyes squeezed shut while she undressed him, afraid that if he opened them, the spell would be broken and she would be gone again. But now, feeling her and knowing she was real, he watched Evangeline’s every move. She rode him, her breath coming shallow and fast, the pleasure of their union written on her face._

_Though neither one of them touched the flowers—her hand rested on John’s chest and his hand guided her hip, and their other hands remained clasped between them—the long chain of I Love Yous snaked between them and around them, binding them and bringing them even closer together._

_What was happening was nothing short of magic, but it was nothing to be afraid of._

_Though John never wanted it to end, his need for release took over and their rhythm became fierce. Evangeline, still on top, could do little more than match his intense thrusts, needing both hands for balance. John pushed her skirt aside. Frantically seeking and then finding her love button, he gave her the few strokes she needed to let go._

_He held himself still, waiting until her sharp cries subsided and her eyes opened again. He knew how much she loved to watch him, be present with him in those few moments when he was totally naked and vulnerable. Then he flipped her to her back and pulled her legs up high, driving himself hard and deep and fast and holding her hips tight, exactly in position to receive him. John panted against her neck, his whole body jerking, as he lost himself in the only safe place there was._


	6. Solo

Evangeline dialed, and, as always, he answered her call on the very first ring. She didn’t even wait for him to say hello.

“Did you do what I asked you to do?”

“I forget. What did you ask me to do again?” His voice let her know instantly he was going to give her a hard time.

“You know exactly what I asked you to do.”

“Maybe you should come here and remind me.”

“Why did I ever bother getting arrested for you, Todd Manning?”

Her rhetorical question was met with silence.

“I am done playing games with you,” she warned.

“But I _like_ to play games,” he whined.

“Last chance. Did you do what I asked you to do?

“Hell no.”

“Okay. Goodbye.” Evangeline took the phone away from her ear, and, as she expected, heard Todd shouting for her not to hang up.

“Jesus. I did it, okay? He was here for three damn hours.”

“And?”

“And a couple weeks from now, we’re going over there.”

Evangeline bit her lip and wondered if Todd could tell she had a huge lump in her throat.

“Thank you, Todd,” she whispered, her voice low. Her faith in him hadn’t been misplaced.

“So what’s got you bawling like a little baby?” he groused.

Evangeline wiped underneath her eyes.

“Nothing. Just that time of year.”

“Tell me about it. Blair’s had us at this party and that dinner and between that and the kids’ Christmas shit… it’s exhausting.”

Evangeline smiled at the idea of Todd Manning, whom almost everyone thought of as villainous, living the life of a contented family man.

“I know what you mean. Dennis has had us on a full-court press. We were at two different parties last Saturday night.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“You saw???”

“Wire photos. You guys are everywhere. I cropped Derwood out and put your photo in The Banner. Photoshopped some saucy knickers instead of your dress. Ran it on page three.”

Evangeline laughed again. For many years, Todd had wanted to put photos of scantily-clad models just inside the front page of The Sun, the way they did in the UK.

“No, really, I did. I got Photoshop skills.”

“I bet you do.”

“So how’s Mr. Right?”

“Well… Dennis proposed to me over Christmas.”

“Oh.” Todd leaned back in his chair, scowling. “I’d say congratulations, but I’d be lying.”

Evangeline fumed on the other end of the phone.

“All the half-truths you tell, and this particular moment, you feel the need to be brutally honest?”

“Yeah. I’ve turned over a new leaf.” He made a growling noise. “Feels good.”

She took a deep breath and told herself she wasn’t going to get sucked in.

“So, Todd. Change of subject. Are you covering the Board of Governors conference in Harrisburg?”

“I _have_ to be there. Why? You gonna be in town?”

“I thought I’d come up, maybe meet you for lunch,” she offered.

“What does Dwayne think of you driving all that way to go on a date with me?” he smirked.

Evangeline ignored him.

“Scott’s or Haydn’s?” As long as he was going to be buying, she gave him two expensive choices.

“Williamson, have you completely forgotten how to have a good time? I’m only going if we go someplace fun.”

Evangeline put her elbows on her desk and leaned her forehead on her palms. Todd went on, undeterred.

“So back to the honest brutality,” he continued. “If you wanted to get married that bad, why didn’t you ask me?”

“Todd, please.” He was being a much bigger headache than usual today.

“I mean, I thought Vega was a Neanderthal, but I have to say, compared to Darnell, he’s positively enlightened.”

“Todd, I will buy you a present if you just back off.”

“What kind of present?”

“I don’t know. It’s cold out. How about a nice cashmere scarf?”

“Nah. I’m thinking more like a car.”

“You already have five cars!”

“Six.”

Todd’s words nagged at her in the background.

“Why do you think Dennis is…”

“A Neanderthal?” Todd laughed. “How much time do you have? This is a very long list.”

“Try your best to summarize.”

“He’s a snob. He’s a control freak. And he calls you ‘Leenie’.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Leenie’?”

“Everybody hates it.”

“Everybody? Like who?”

“We all do.”

“Well, it’s better than what my family calls me,” she said, ruefully. “And he does not control me.”

“No? Want an instant replay??? ‘Leenie, let me get you a smaller piece of cake.’ ‘Leenie, I knew you would be cold in that dress.’ ‘Leenie, it’s time to go.’” Todd’s voice was mocking in the extreme.

“And this is your opinion from meeting him, what, once?”

“I don’t think I could take much more. Don’t know how _you_ do.”

“I am sick of everyone telling me I’m making a mistake!”

Todd laughed his patented, snarky laugh.

“I know exactly how you feel, Williamson.” Then his voice got serious. “And if it’s me, I just ignore it and do whatever the fuck I want.”

Evangeline laughed. That was exactly what Todd did. 

“But if it’s you, doesn’t it make you wonder? We can’t _all_ be wrong.”

She said nothing. It was a decent argument for which there was no decent response.

“Seriously, Evangeline, you’ve got to put your foot down. If this is the way he is now, what’s going to happen after you promise to obey him?” Todd laughed at his own joke.

“How many times have you been married, Todd?” Evangeline poked him back. “Any one of those times, did Blair promise to obey you?”

“Yeah, good point. I better grab a pen. Write myself a note for next time. But back to you.”

“Todd, there are things you don’t understand.” She debated telling him, then, almost as quickly, decided against it. Todd had several specific triggers, and abusive behavior toward women was one of them. If she told Todd about Marcus, he’d handle her with kid gloves forever more. _Safer to say nothing._ “Dennis was just taking care of me. That’s his way.”

Todd didn’t say anything for a moment. His newsman’s brain knew there was more to the story. He would tease her, but he would never truly risk his relationship with Evangeline over curiosity and conjecture.

“So as long as you’re getting married up, aren’t you going to ask me to be your Best Man?”

Evangeline laughed, knowing that the traditional ceremony being planned had no place for Todd. Evangeline had wanted a small wedding, with just her sister standing up with her. That was, until Dennis had asked several of his friends to stand up with him, and now Evangeline was going to have to cough up three more bridesmaids. Female bridesmaids.

“I’m serious,” he said, responding to her laugh. “You’re really not going to ask me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t exactly see you in a tea-length, off-the-shoulder, Empire-waisted, crepe-backed satin gown.”

“Sounds hideous. What color?” asked Todd. He’d done stranger things than wearing a dress in public.

“Rembrandt Rose.”

“Yeah. No. Not a good color on me.”

“Plus it’s gonna make your ass look huge,” Evangeline said, glad for the opportunity to tease Todd about something in return.

“Hey, that’s the bridesmaid’s job, isn’t it?”

“In my experience, yes.” Evangeline had a small collection of unattractive bridesmaid’s dresses in the closet at her apartment.

“Well, never mind. Darrell would have a heart attack if he even knew we were having this conversation.”

Evangeline opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.

 _Darrell would definitely flip_ , she thought.

Evangeline put her laptop on the sofa next to her and arched her back, stretching herself long and lean. It was the first Friday night they’d had in a while where they didn’t have somewhere to go. Dennis had been out of town on business, so Evangeline had planned to go out with Kennya.

Dennis’ meetings were, as always, successful. They’d ended early and he’d scored a standby flight out, arriving home moments after Evangeline and scaring the hell out of her. Instead of the Lifetime movie and the huge glass of wine she’d planned, Evangeline was clearing out her Inbox. She never had time to do that at her desk during the week.

Dennis was in the bedroom unpacking with CNN on at full volume.

 _Nothing newsworthy ever happens on Friday night_ , she thought, irritated. She’d rather listen to music, or even nothing at all.

She thought for a moment she should go in there and hang out with him, but re-folding clothes was even worse than deleting e-mails on a Friday night. Ten years ago, she would have been going out with friends to the movies or dancing. Hell, even five years ago, she would have been between sets at Dez’s.

 _Haven’t seen Dez in forever_ , she thought. _I miss my Mr. Dez._

“Are you hungry?” she yelled. Dennis hated it when she forgot and shouted between rooms.

“Can’t hear you, Leenie,” he yelled back.

“Never mind,” she called, heading for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and poked around, but didn’t find anything that interested her.

 _Maybe a glass of wine_ , she thought, then thought better of it. Ever since that night at the White House, she’d been extra careful. She’d given herself new rules: never more than two drinks, and never two days in a row. Technically speaking, according to her new rules, she was eligible for a glass of wine, but she opted not to have it. _Don’t need it._

She rummaged in the pantry for her secret stash of Mint Milanos. There was only one left in the bag, so she leaned against the countertop and ate it in tiny bites, making it last as long as she could.

 _I’m too used to going out_ , she thought. _I’ve forgotten how to relax at home._

She crumpled up the empty bag and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. Evangeline felt oddly trapped by the apartment, though earlier today, she couldn’t wait to get home and relax a bit before heading out to meet Kennya.

 _It’s not fair to call her back, after I cancelled at the last minute_ , she thought. _But I do know someone who doesn’t have plans…_

Evangeline arranged her face into an impish smile and sauntered into the bedroom. She came up from behind Dennis and wrapped her arms around him, one flung over his shoulder and one around from the side.

“Tell me _yes_ ,” she sang, suggestively, stroking his chest through his shirt.

Dennis chuckled.

“What are you up to?” he asked suspiciously.

“I thought you would do anything for me,” she cooed. “You going back on our deal so soon?”

“Never.” He leaned his head over and kissed her forearm. “Okay. Yes. Now what did I just agree to?”

“Well, we didn’t go out on New Year’s Eve… why don’t we do something tonight?”

“Out? I just got home!”

“Oh, come on. It’s Friday night and I’ve missed you! Let’s have a little fun.”

“I thought we’d have a glass of wine and take down the Christmas tree,” he offered.

“Your plan isn’t as fun as my plan,” she pouted. “Besides, it’s a tiny tree. Your plan will only take ten minutes.”

“Are you open to a counteroffer?” he asked.

Evangeline nodded.

“How about you fix up some dinner and I’ll get in the shower. And then, yes, Leenie, we can go out for a while, but—” 

Evangeline braced herself for it.

“—but I’m a little tired from the flight. Can we make it an early night?”

She came around to his side and squeezed him tight.

“Very fair and reasonable, Counselor. I accept your counteroffer.”

Evangeline sealed the deal with a welcome-home kiss, then hustled off to the kitchen.

###

Evangeline’s plan had quickly turned into the night from hell.

She hadn’t gone food shopping during the week while Dennis was gone because she hated cooking for one. As a result, she’d been stuck for what to make for dinner. In the end she whipped up some biscuits and scrambled eggs, plus the last of the bacon slices she’d found in the freezer. She’d thought it wasn’t bad for an impromptu meal, but when Dennis looked at his plate she saw clearly that he’d been expecting something else.

Once they’d finished eating, she’d put the dishes in the sink and raced to the bedroom to get ready. She wanted to look amazing and spent extra time curling her hair. She’d come out of the bedroom in a new, strappy mauve-pink dress, and Dennis’ only comment was to ask her how long it would take her to put her hair up. He always liked her hair pulled back. She’d turned on her heel without a word and flattened all her hard work into a boring French twist.

She’d looked in the mirror and pulled out two thin, curly tendrils, one on either side of her face, then gone back out to meet Dennis at the door.

Alexei had greeted them as they left the building, telling Evangeline in Russian that she looked stunning. Though Dennis didn’t speak Russian, and found Evangeline’s constant desire to do so annoying, he was a man. As such, he was able to translate the look on Alexei’s face and Evangeline’s reaction, and he put his arm around her possessively as they walked outside. He glared over his shoulder at Alexei as they went through the double doors.

Finally, he’d groused at her choice of clubs. The Alley Kat was too downtown for him, and Evangeline could tell he felt self-conscious from the moment he’d stepped out of the cab. She took charge, leading him inside and ordering him a double Hennessey and negotiating to share a table in the corner, away from the tiny stage. Though they were between sets, the sign there indicated the Alley Kat was hosting karaoke tonight, and Dennis rolled his eyes. Evangeline leaned in to him, kissing his cheek and squeezing his thigh.

“Come on, D, let’s have fun.”

Dennis arranged a pleasant expression on his face, and when Evangeline mock-glared at him, he gave in with a smile. He sipped his Hennessey and she watched as his shoulders went down slightly.

“So did you find your dress?” he asked.

Finding either a wedding dress or a dress designer had been the first priority on Evangeline’s to-do list. She’d promised to have it taken care of before Dennis returned from Boulder.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“What happened this time?”

“I just haven’t found the perfect one,” she said, defensively. The Reverend at Dennis’ church had given her a printed sheet of guidelines. Evangeline had almost laughed as she took it from him, then realized he was completely serious. The problem was that she wanted to wear something off-the-shoulder, or even strapless, which was definitely not on the list. It made her miss her own Pastor Billings, whose philosophy, stated warmly, was that all brides are beautiful. “Besides, you came home early. I have eleven more hours.”

Dennis chuckled.

“Just try to decide soon, okay?”

“I _am_ trying.”

“Did you ask Rianne yet?”

“Honestly, I haven’t had time.” Plus, she’d only recently met the woman, and felt uncomfortable asking someone she barely knew to stand up for her, even if she was one of the other partner’s wives.

Dennis opened his mouth for the next question, but Evangeline intercepted him.

“How was Boulder?” she asked. She’d spent a week there with college friends during her junior year at Stanford, and she’d loved it.

“Boulder was cold. Mean cold. Nasty cold.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed. “We’ll have to get you a warmer coat.”

“Nooo,” he moaned. “I hate that place.”

“Why?”

“There’s nothing to do there. World’s biggest small town.”

“What do you mean, nothing to do?” Evangeline’s biggest regret with Boulder had been that she’d only had six days there, which meant there was no way to experience it all. “Are you kidding me? They have a waterfall there. They have skiing! A world renowned Shakespeare company. You know Celestial Seasonings? The tea I like? Their headquarters is in Boulder and they give tours every day! Great museums! A planetarium! And—”

“But—”

“And a dude ranch! A real, live dude ranch!” Evangeline laughed at the expression on Dennis’ face. “Okay, so you don’t do horses. I’ll give you that one.”

“What are you, the Boulder Chamber of Commerce?” he chuckled. “Seriously, how do you suddenly know so much about that place, Leenie?”

“I spent some time there in college. And I’ve always wanted to go back.”

Dennis shuddered.

“Well, I’ve fixed it so I won’t have to go back there anymore.” Evangeline raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know why they couldn’t just work through Hendricks to begin with. It’s money they can’t afford to spend, if they want to win.”

“Oh, you’ll win, D.” Evangeline observed his determination and laughed. “You always get what you want, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. Speaking of which, when are you going to get all this wedding stuff in gear?”

“Don’t worry, D. It’s under control.” Evangeline watched Dennis’ face carefully, wondering how much push-back he’d take. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. _We have to have more to say to each other than this_ , she thought. Then she got an idea. “Wait. Why don’t you tell me what you want me to sing to you?”

“Sing? Why do you want to sing?”

“Come on, D! I love to sing! And they have karaoke—”

Dennis leaned over and cut her off, his voice a hissing whisper.

“No. Ab-solutely _not_.”

Evangeline pulled back, shocked. Inside, where she hoped it didn’t show, Evangeline-the-girlfriend and Evangeline-the-lawyer battled for the right to respond. She found herself relieved when Evangeline-the-lawyer won, and when she spoke, her voice was unnaturally calm.

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Lockhart. Have I done anything today that’s pleased you?”

“Pleased me?”

“Yes. Anything at all. Have I met your exacting standards in any way today?” Evangeline’s smile was warm despite the coldness of her words.

“You’re overreacting.”

“So you _wanted_ to go out together tonight.”

He said nothing.

“And it meant something that I wore a new dress for you.”

Dennis noticed her dress for the first time.

“It’s pretty,” he said, trying to smooth over their tiff. “You look beautiful.”

“You absolutely loved the way I did my hair, yes? The first time, I mean.”

He looked at her stonily, but didn’t say anything.

“I chose a new place for us to try, and you were open to it.”

More silence.

“And you _loved_ the dinner I made for you.”

Dennis pressed his lips together.

“Look, eggs for dinner is just not my favorite, okay?”

Evangeline paused and sat further back.

“Okay, Dennis.”

She picked up her purse, pushed her chair back, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Powder my nose, baby. Be right back.” She turned for the bathrooms without another word.

###

Dennis waited and checked his watch, wondering how much longer she was going to make them stay. He was tired from the negotiations in Boulder and the long flight, and he’d only come here only because he’d felt a fight brewing if he didn’t. He shifted in his seat as the music started again. In Dennis’ opinion, karaoke was really a stupid idea, simply because so few people actually had any talent. The idea that you could have no talent and still have fun singing never occurred to him. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it wasn’t bad.

Take a good look at it  
Look at it now  
Might be the last time you'll  
Have a go round

 _This girl’s actually good_ , he thought, turning to watch. To his horror, his fiancée, Evangeline Williamson, stood in the spotlight, holding the microphone, and swaying in time to the suggestive beat of the song.

Seeing she finally had Dennis’ full attention, Evangeline turned her gaze to the audience.

I'll let you touch it if you'd  
Like to go down  
I'll let you go further  
If you take the southern route

Don't go too fast  
Don't go too slow  
You've got to let your body flow  
I like 'em attentive  
And I like 'em in control

She swung her hips and the crowd shouted. She’d used her time in the ladies’ room to excellent effect, taking her hair out of its tight updo and quickly restyling it with a tiny bit of warm water. It hadn’t lost all of its curl. Then she’d applied her burgundy lip gloss, the one Dennis didn’t like her to wear because it came off all over him when she kissed him.

Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
I'll give you the red light special  
All through the night  
Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
Just come through my door  
Take off my clothes  
And turn on the red light

Evangeline took her time with the song, making eye contact and dancing close to the people down front. There was something freeing about singing “take off my clothes” to a handsome stranger, and she let herself go. The crowd, especially the men in the crowd, was loving her right back.

I know that you want me I can  
See it in your eyes  
You might as well be honest 'cause the  
Body never lies  
Tell me your secrets and I'll  
I'll tell you mine  
I'm feelin' quite sexy  
And I want you for tonight  
If I move too fast just let me know  
'Cause it means you move too slow  
I like some excitement  
And I like a man that goes

She’d halfway expected Dennis to charge the stage and make her stop. He sat at their table, watching her without moving his head. He even had the nerve to look a little bored. During the bridge, she shrugged out of her jacket, rolling her shoulders, and bumping and grinding her hips in time to the slow, steady beat.

Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
I'll give you the red light special  
All through the night  
Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
Just come through my door  
Take off my clothes  
And turn on the red light

 _Two can play that game, Dennis Lockhart._ His cool exterior let her know she was getting to him, but she would accept nothing less than complete victory. Evangeline worked it, wanting each person watching tonight to remember her version of this song, and not Tionne’s.

If you want me  
Let me know it  
I'll make time but  
You've got to show it  
If you need me  
I want to see  
But don't mistake me  
I don't want you down on your knees  
I need someone a real man  
I need someone who understands  
I'm a woman a real woman  
I know just what I want  
I know just who I am

Evangeline relaxed and finally began enjoying herself.

Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
I'll give you the red light special  
All through the night  
Baby it's yours  
All yours  
If you want it tonight  
Just come through my door  
Take off my clothes  
And turn on the red light

When the music faded, she gave a tiny, flirty bow, then, to screams and thunderous applause, picked up her jacket and purse. She stepped off the stage and headed directly to Dennis at the other side of the room. She walked deliberately, very aware of the admiring stares as she crossed the room. She was expecting Dennis to be angry, but instead, he had on his patented neutral expression. People paid him thousands of dollars an hour to wear that expression, but seeing it now made Evangeline furious.

“Well??” she asked, tipping her chin up.

“They loved it,” he replied, raising his eyebrows.

Evangeline’s heart jumped; she’d expected to be on the defensive end of a fight, and Dennis’ approval meant everything to her.

“You’re not mad?” she breathed.

Dennis paused before answering, then put his hands on her shoulders.

“I understand, Leenie. It’s okay.” She stepped into him, relieved, as he clasped his arms around her. “You just want to get it out of your system now, before we’re married.”

Evangeline froze against his chest and did not return his hug. She wriggled out from underneath him and stepped back before addressing him, very calmly and very quietly. He had to lean forward to hear her over the next singer.

“Understand something, Dennis Lockhart. This is who I am. And if all this—” she circled her finger in front of her chest “—does not work for you, then you better find a way to get _me_ out of _your_ system.”

She bypassed him and made a beeline to the door, hailing the first cab she saw. Once safely inside the back seat, she told the cabbie just to drive away, and kept herself from looking out the back window to see if Dennis had followed her out.

Evangeline thought about telling the driver to take her to Dez’s club. She needed a friend and he’d always been one. Always would be one, too.

_Can’t run to Dez every time you have a problem, Vange._

She shivered in the back seat, pulling her jacket over her like a blanket. She’d left her coat at their table.

_It’s time to go home._

“Columbia Heights, please. Fairmont Street.”

###

Evangeline hurried from the cab up to her second-floor apartment. It was freezing, so she turned the heat up and headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Then she went to the bedroom, needing to change and get that stupid dress off as quickly as possible. She rolled it into a ball and dropped it on the floor, then went to the dresser. The drawers were nearly empty: most of what she owned was at Dennis’ place already, and what was here was mostly for warm weather. She sorted around, finally pulling out a pair of track pants. They had definitely seen better days, and she never would have worn them at his place.

She stepped into the pants. She got a pair of thick socks and slid them on, cursing the cold. Then she spotted the dress on the floor.

 _That’s not the way my Mama raised me_ , she thought. _Doing that to a brand-new dress_. She bent to pick it up, then opened her closet. It contained only three things: empty hangers, two bridesmaid dresses she’d never wear again, and a small, cardboard box. She shivered, wondering if it was the cold or that box causing it.

Evangeline hung up the dress, then pulled the box down and took out the shirt that lay folded neatly within. She replaced the box with a soft sigh, then pulled the shirt—his shirt—over her head.

 _This isn’t wrong_ , she thought. She almost wished she hadn’t washed the shirt, because then it would still smell like him. _Probably should feel a little guilty about that one._ The tea kettle started whistling in the kitchen. Evangeline decided she was overdue for a little self-indulgence and shook off her guilt. 

She was into her second cup of tea and looking for something to read. _Something uplifting, maybe, or maybe something romantic. Lord knows I’m overdue for a little romance at this point…_ Evangeline pawed through boxes. Only the law books had made it to the shelves on the east wall of her apartment. She found a book that fit the bill and settled onto her chaise with a blanket, ready for a good read, when his knock came at the door.

“Just go home, Dennis,” she said aloud, but she got herself up, took the chain off, and opened the door. She left the door open and headed back to the kitchen to warm up her tea.

“I hope you’re still in that mood, Dennis Lockhart. I got a lot of fight left in me,” she called over her shoulder.

Dennis closed the door behind him and unbuttoned his coat.

“I’m sorry, Leenie.”

Evangeline stopped in her tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have. If it’s about the wedding, we can do that any way you want. It’s being married to you that’s important to me, not the wedding day.” Evangeline’s face remained a blank, so he continued. “If it’s something else, just tell me. I just want you to be happy. I will work day and night to make you happy.”

Evangeline softened.

“D, it’s not supposed to be that hard.”

“Leenie, it’s not that hard.”

“Dennis, do you think you could call me by my name? My real name?”

He nodded.

“I can do that.”

He followed her down the hallway, wondering if she would let him near. He’d seen her wounded before, and it pained him to know that this time, he’d been the cause.

“I understand you, baby.” He stood close and smoothed her hair, then tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eyes. “It’s okay to be scared.” He took both of her hands in his.

“I’m not scared, Dennis.”

“Of course not,” he said.

Dennis, still holding her hands, got down on his knees.

“Leenie.” He cleared his throat. “Evangeline. I just want to be with you.”

She focused on his eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Please, Evangeline. Forgive me. All I want is you.”


	7. Best Friend

John strolled up the walkway along the river on Wacker Drive, repeating the steps he’d already taken dozens of times.

This morning, he’d gotten up later than usual. He’d had a very intense, erotic dream about him and Evangeline riding a horse on the Buchanan Estate, and he’d stayed in bed for a while to deal with the aftereffects. Today was New Year’s Eve, a holiday and the party night of the year, but other than the late start, it would be no different for him. He’d stick to his routine. He liked keeping it simple: do whatever it took to get tired enough so he could go home and not dream. The exception of last night’s dream aside, dreaming didn’t usually bring him peace.

He was most at peace when his time was his own. He walked miles through the city, both the places the tourists went and the places they were warned away from. And each time, he brought three things with him: his camera, his loneliness, and his pain, the pain he’d never share with anyone. Armed with these, he took photographs, letting his feelings aim and focus and shoot, letting each click of the shutter release a tiny bit of his anguish. And the best part was that he didn’t have to say a damn word.

Today, John had captured some of the glass buildings near the river in the slanting late-afternoon sunlight. Afterward, he’d headed back to the river walk, peering in through the glass, watching people work. He shook his head, wondering how they could be inside all day. Still shaking his head, he’d walked by the window of a bar as a group of friends left their table. There was something about the way their wine glasses were arranged that appealed to him, so he snapped a few frames, angling himself to make sure his reflection didn’t show in the glass. His instincts told him he’d gotten some decent shots, but he wouldn’t be able to develop them. The camera store wouldn’t be open again until the 2nd. No matter, he’d just keep taking photos and have more to develop whenever they did reopen.

He sat down on the bench he usually chose. This part of the river was wider, near the mouth to the lake, and there was often more boat traffic here. He watched for a moment, thinking about how he’d fill the night hours. The holiday meant no job from Nyeland, and every place he could think of was going to be a zoo tonight.

 _Amateur night,_ he thought. _The only time I ever had a great time on New Year’s Eve was with Evang—_

He felt himself being observed again. This time, he was more careful. He slowly turned his head right then left, focusing into the distance. The only eyes watching him belonged to a dog, some kind of yellow Labrador mix. It was the same dog that had been here last time, but this time, it was staring at him intently.

John patted his thigh and held out his other hand. The dog came over and accepted a scratch on the head, so John checked for a collar and tags, but there were none. He felt the dog’s ribs and it wasn’t skeletal, but it clearly hadn’t been eating enough.

 _Scruffy and hungry_ , thought John. _Looks like we got something in common._

He stood up.

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.” John looked around. “How about a burger?”

John loped over to the sandwich shop he’d spotted just off the river and the dog followed him, then sat and waited patiently just outside the door. He bought two burgers and brought them back outside, barely getting the wrapper off one of them before the dog bolted it down. John unwrapped the second hamburger and watched as the dog nearly wagged its tail off. He took two big bites, then fed the rest of it to the dog.

The dog turned in a circle and lay down at John’s feet. He put his hands on his hips, not wanting to leave it out in the cold, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of what they’d do to it after three days in a county shelter. The dog put its foot on top of John’s boot, then shifted and rolled over onto its back, its legs in the air.

John’s heart sank as he saw the dog’s belly. Its chest was matted with blood, mostly dried up, but also some fresh. John pulled out his cell phone, then crouched down and scratched the dog under its chin while he punched the buttons.

“It’s gonna be okay, girl.” John quickly double-checked to make sure. “Yeah, definitely a girl. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you fixed up.” 

Fifty minutes later, he pushed open the door of the fourth veterinary office he’d phoned. The first three had been closed and he’d gotten the number for this one through the answering service of the third. Then, he’d had to find a cab that would let the dog ride, too.

A short woman with shaggy, blonde-highlighted hair came from behind the swinging door. She wore a white coat over green corduroys and John assumed she was the vet. She greeted the dog first, looking it right in the eyes and giving it some skritches.

“What’s your name, baby?”

She was surprised when the man didn’t answer for his dog.

She showed them both to an examination room. The dog wouldn’t go inside until John did. He lifted the dog gently to the table, then kept a hand on her back, knowing she probably wasn’t going to enjoy what came next.

“So what happened to you?” asked the vet, her voice very high and girlish, as she began her careful examination.

John stood to the side, watching the vet’s careful, tiny hands, and gave his report.

“I found her over near… Millennium Park,” he said, trying to remember the closest major landmark. “No collar, no tags. She was hungry, so I fed her, and then I saw how roughed up she was. Nothing seems broken. Doesn’t seem to be in pain. There’s fresh blood, so I thought she should get checked out. It’s been about 45 minutes since she ate.” _Doctors usually want to know that_ , he thought.

The vet nodded, continuing her examination. She coaxed the dog to lie down on the table.

“That explains why she doesn’t have a name. Can you hold her legs?” she asked. The vet reached for an electric razor and started to buzz off the matted hair. She worked slowly, being careful not to cause more hurt, and it took a long time. Underneath, there were two angry bite marks, one of them oozing, which she cleaned up and disinfected. Finally, she reached to the end of the counter for a handheld reader. This she pointed at the dog’s back.

“So she’ll be fine. She’s dehydrated and she’ll need antibiotics just in case, and we’ll have to test for rabies since we don’t know what bit her.” She replaced the reader and looked at John. “There’s no chip, so finding her owner won’t be easy. Were you planning to take her home?”

John looked up, surprised.

“I don’t, uh—”

“The county shelter’s closed for the holiday, so in the spirit of, uh, whatever, she could stay here overnight. It’d give you some time to make arrangements,” suggested the vet.

“Thanks. I’ll see if I can work something out. I appreciate it, uh, Doctor…”

She pointed to the nameplate on the door of the room. _Daniciewicz._ John could only guess at the pronunciation.

“Denisiewicks?”

“Dan-i-shev-itz.”

John bit his lip.

“Maybe I better know your first name.”

“Cassandra.”

“That’s a lot of name for such a tiny girl.” John watched as Cassandra looked up and glared at him. “Woman, I mean.”

“Everyone calls me Dani.” She never thought of herself as short. Or a girl.

“Dani,” approved John. “It suits you. So do I pay you or do you send me a bill?”

“Let’s see how she is in the morning. She may need another dose of the antibiotic.”

John nodded.

“Thanks again for letting her stay. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do!”

John raised his eyebrows.

“I stayed open an hour past closing for this. On the second-biggest date night of the year.”

John, surprised, looked at his watch. It was after 6 p.m. Way after.

“This is the part where you ask me if I have plans.” Dani looked up at him from under long brown eyelashes. “I’ll give you a hint. I don’t.”

John thought her directness was refreshing. And that her eyes were very green. For a moment, she reminded him of Caitlin. He gallantly tried to make up for the fact that he’d called her a tiny girl a moment ago.

“Hard to believe someone pretty as you doesn’t have plans on New Year’s Eve.” 

“Tonight is amateur night. I hate going out on New Year’s,” she smirked, enjoying his shyness as he delivered his compliment.

“Yeah, I’m the same way,” he laughed. _If it falls into your lap…_ he thought. “So if neither one of is going to go out, what do we do? Order a pizza?”

“There’s, uh, a beer joint around the corner.”

“Sounds good,” he replied. 

“Ready for bed?” she asked the dog. 

John lifted the dog from the table and set her down. Dani showed them to the back of the building, where she opened the largest open kennel they had. John gave the dog several reassuring pets, and she walked inside and turned in a circle before settling down in the corner. Dani introduced the dog to her new neighbors while she put down water and some dry food, then closed the latch and walked out with John following. He looked back at the dog, relieved to see that her eyes were already closed and her head rested on her paws.

 _At least she’ll be warm for the night_ , he thought.

Dani went to her office and grabbed her keys and coat, then waited while John retrieved his coat and camera bag from the exam room. Even though he was plenty warm, he put his coat on so she wouldn’t think he was weird. Plus, he didn’t want to explain about the fire he’d barely lived through and why he was always boiling hot.

The place was literally around the corner. It was his kind of place, or more accurately, his Dad’s kind of place, with the stained glass lamps and the mirrored Miller High Life signs adorning the walls. Dani moved through the crowd, headed for a booth in the back.

“Shot and a beer,” she called out as she passed by the bar.

“Two,” said John, nodding at the bartender and raising his fingers in a vee. She was obviously a regular.

They sat down. John turned slightly so he could see both doors.

“So are you a cop?” asked Dani.

“No.”

She watched his eyes track away every couple of seconds, checking both doors and the cash register before they came back to rest on her. 

“You talk like a cop. You act like a cop.”

“Okay. You got me. I might have used to be one.”

Dani could tell it was a touchy subject and was ready to leave it alone. John, on the other hand, could not.

The bartender came over with their drinks and set them down with a glare for John. John, not used to being glared at until people knew him a little better, almost laughed.

“How could you tell? You date a cop or something?”

“Date a cop? No way. I’m not stupid,” she said, enjoying John’s chagrin. “But my father’s a cop, and I’ve got two older sisters and a baby brother on the job.”

“Why not you too?”

“Not stupid, remember? Plus, I’m the black sheep of the family.”

“I kind of am, too.”

“Yet another thing we have in common,” she smiled. “So what do you do now?”

John didn’t want to tell her he did contract jobs for a PI: a cop’s daughter would know how scummy that was.

“I’m a photographer.”

“Interesting career change,” she mused. “How’d that happen?”

“My dad was a big camera nut. Guess I got it from him.”

“What do you do, like weddings and stuff?”

John laughed.

“Weddings aren’t exactly my thing. I suppose you could call what I do fine art photography.” He paused. “If you had to put a label on it, I mean.”

“Would I have seen your work?”

John thought of his most recent shots and shook his head no.

“Do you show at a gallery?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just haven’t.”

“Then you’re not really a photographer.”

He saw the challenge on her upturned face; she wasn’t buying his story.

“I haven’t shown at a gallery _yet_. But I have a friend who owns a gallery, and she owes me a favor. Does that count?”

“How big of a favor?”

John thought back, then nodded definitively. Before he’d left Llanview, he’d cleared Lindsay Rappaport of a murder she didn’t commit. After she’d gone and confessed to doing it.

“Big.”

“Suddenly you’re looking more and more like a photographer to me,” chuckled Dani.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“So, a cop can’t own a bar, and I’m guessing your dad would be beyond a side gig like this, at this point in his career.” He tipped his head over toward the bartender, who was still glaring at him.

Dani smirked and nodded, drinking from her mug of beer. John could see the man talking to a couple sitting in front of him, and occasionally they all turned and looked over at him and Dani.

“So, older brother?”

“Only if my mom started when she was seven. No! Brother-in-law. That’s Cyril.”

John chuckled.

“So, taking me home to meet your family on a first date, that’s kind of fast, isn’t it?”

“Are you calling me fast?” she sassed.

“No ma’am.” John smiled slyly at the table. “What I mean is, what are they going to think, you bringing a fella here?”

Dani leaned toward him conspiratorially.

“They’re going to be so thrilled they were wrong about me being a lesbian, they’re probably throwing a damn party back there right now.”

They both laughed, especially because Dani hadn’t been joking. John lifted his shot and waited for Dani to raise hers, and they clinked glasses and drank.

“Besides, I had to bring you someplace safe. You could have turned out to be some kind of creep.”

“No, I have to be on my best behavior. You’ve got my dog.”

“Good point. If you want to come by tomorrow, I’ll be there between 3 and 5. You can check on her.”

 _If it falls into your lap…_ he thought.

“Sounds good. So, thanks for this. I had a good time. Good company. But, I’ve got to go.” He pulled a twenty and a ten from his wallet and left it on the table. John could feel several sets of eyes on him as he pulled on his coat. Dani nodded her thanks and picked up her pint. John looked back over his shoulder toward the bar, knowing that even if he couldn’t see them, her family was watching. He waited until Dani finished her beer, then put one hand down flat on the table.

“Dani.”

“What?” She looked up expectantly.

He leaned in and gave her a big kiss, then a smaller one, right on the mouth. When he pulled away, Dani bit her lip, raising her eyebrows, and he pursed his lips, trying not to grin.

“Just making sure they know you’re not a lesbian.”

###

John turned over, kicking at the tucked-in blankets, and hooked one arm underneath his pillow.

_Why does it have to be so damn complicated? groused John to the empty room._

_He was standing in his parents’ bedroom in Atlantic City, in front of the freestanding oval mirror, trying to adjust the complicated buckles inside the waistband of his tuxedo pants._

_Why didn’t I try to figure this out yesterday? he thought._

_Despite his difficulties, he was never one to ask for help. He was glad he’d sent Michael out of the room to find a pen and a piece of paper. Michael, taking his role as Best Man a tiny bit too seriously, had stopped his fussing and bolted to do his brother’s bidding, and John was finally, mercifully, alone._

_One thing at a time, he thought, breathing slowly to relax himself._

_It wasn’t the wedding that was making him nervous, and it definitely wasn’t the marriage. He just wanted it to be perfect for her, to make a perfect memory that his bride would treasure always._

_Ten minutes later, dressed and ready, John took a last look in the mirror, then opened the door and went downstairs. He could hear the chatter of his mother and her sisters in the kitchen, and the sounds of people milling about in the back yard, waiting until it was time to go to the church. John passed silently to the side door and went through it resolutely, knowing that Caitlin would already be waiting for him._

_The dark hallway of his parents’ home morphed into the blindingly bright interior of the church._

_John shifted in his sleep. He and Caitlin were to be married at her church in Princeton, but in his dream, it was always St. Nicholas in Atlantic City. St. Paul’s, with its white stone exterior, was charming enough on the outside, but was soullessly beige on the inside. Padded chairs were placed where pews should have been; instead of a stone floor that enhanced the acoustics of the room, a thick Berber carpet dulled the sound, ensuring that the priest would have to be miked, an idea John found utterly ridiculous. Even the stained glass windows in the clerestory were modern-looking._

_“If you’re gonna be married in a church,” said John out loud to no one in particular, walking the length of the side aisle by himself, “it oughta look like a church.”_

_He placed himself in his spot, the spot where the groom always stood, and turned to wait for her._

_John watched intently, never taking his eyes from Caitlin as she came down the aisle, walking serenely and confidently in the dress she never actually wore. He’d never even seen it until after she was dead: they’d shown it to him the morning of the funeral as he sat, absolutely crushed, at Eileen Fitzgerald’s round kitchen table. It had shone, lifeless and limp, on its padded hanger, and years after her death he could only envision how it would have looked on the bride when he was dreaming._

_Caitlin walked the aisle by herself, slowly. It took her forever to traverse the length of the nave._

_He stood next to the bottom step, hands clasped in front, and breathed through his nose. He watched her come to him, thinking that this ancient ritual had nothing to do with him and her and what they shared: it was only for the others, their family and friends, who sat grinning idiotically in the pews._

_As far as John was concerned, he was already married to her, in his heart where it counted, and there would never be another. He’d felt that for a while, but he’d wanted to wait to show her, to honor her the way her religion demanded._

_Caitlin was the one who hadn’t wanted to wait. Two months before the wedding as they lay next to each other on his bed, she’d put her hands, one to each side of his face, her green eyes looking deep into his blue ones, and she’d whispered just you, just me, nothing else matters John make me yours. Looking back at her, taking both her hands and holding them, he’d been unable to stop himself._

_He’d kissed her tenderly and whispered I will love you always. John had taken her to him and made love to her as tenderly as he’d known how, afraid he’d hurt her despite her assurances that she was ready. And when he was finally inside her, she’d held his face to hers and whispered it’s only ever going to be you John, and she’d been right, because a short while later, she was dead._

_Now, in his dream, he watched her walk toward him, the way he’d imagined it would be, so many times in the years since he’d stood, broken and trembling, over her open grave. He wondered how she could see through the double veils, and she was taller than he remembered._

_John stirred in his sleep, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Ten years had passed and he was still dreaming about his wedding day, the day that never came and never would come, because Haver had taken her from him just weeks before the event was to occur._

_This dream always left him unsettled and sad afterwards, and for a moment he thought he should wake himself up. But just like that night, their first night together, John could not say no to his Caitlin, and let himself sink back into sleep, wanting to complete, if only in his dreams, the union that had been denied them._

_He settled back down into his pillow as she came down the aisle, and as she finally neared him, the church and their families vanished. The two of them stood together, alone at last, in the golden glow of the street lamps that illuminated the statue in Angel Square. The statue looked benevolently down at the couple, then blinked and made the sign of the blessing over them. Then she spread her arms to the sides and returned to her original position, looking up at the heavens._

_John smiled broadly. It was finally official. They were husband and wife. He sucked in a breath and reached forward, smiling and wanting to taste her sweet lips and celebrate. He lifted the layers of tulle away from her face and gasped as Evangeline, Evangeline Williamson, leaned in to meet him, her mouth parted slightly, and her eyes brimming with hope and joy and admiration and devotion._

John’s eyes snapped open.

 _That’s not how this dream ends_ , he thought. _At least, that’s not how it ever ended before._

He shut his eyes quickly. Though his heart pounded, he still hovered in the space between sleep and wakefulness. He held a breath and blew it out slowly, pulling the pillow over his head for more darkness. He wanted to go back to sleep, finish his dream.

He wanted more time with Evangeline.

John’s phone rang, bringing him fully conscious, and for a moment, it was all back, all the pain of losing Evangeline, all over again. He was glad for it, too: it was the only thing left of her that was real to him.

He glanced at the caller ID and stabbed angrily at the green button on his phone.

It was Nyeland, and as usual, he was irritated.

 _That makes us even, ’cause now I’m pissed too_ , grumbled John silently.

“McBain,” barked John.

“Who are you, McBain, Gianni Versace?”

“What??”

“I’m not running a magazine here.”

“You lost me, Nyeland.”

“These shots, they’re all _arty_. These skanks look fucking great! I don’t want ’em to look like a perfume commercial… I want you to make ’em look crappy and dirty.”

“Versace was a dress designer, not a photographer,” stated John, arching his back and sliding one tattooed arm underneath his pillow. “Murdered. In ’97. By a serial.”

John remembered the details because it had been around the same time as Caitlin, and because since then, it had been used as a training case for every class at the Academy.

 _You’d think he’d know that_ , thought John.

Nyeland said nothing.

“I just point the thing and shoot it, Nyeland. They look how they look.”

“Well, I got another one for you, tonight. Western suburbs this time, if you want it.”

 _Not really_ , thought John.

“Send me the file,” he replied.

Nyeland grunted his assent, annoyed at John’s insistence on e-mail, and disconnected.

 _And they call me moody_ , he thought.

He reached to put his cell on the nightstand, then thought better of it. He dialed and got up to get some orange juice out of the small refrigerator tucked into the corner, then leaned against the window sill, putting his bare back to the cold glass. He took a quick drink while the phone rang in Llanview, Pennsylvania.

“So, I’m reporting in as ordered, Chief,” smirked John.

The man on the other end was glad to hear his voice.

“Good timing. I was just looking up your mom’s number,” joked Bo.

“Might as well finish doing that. You’re gonna call her soon as I hang up, right?”

Bo pulled his phone away from his mouth so John wouldn’t hear him laugh.

“Oh, so you’re gonna stonewall me? Fine. Tell her I said hi.”

Bo laughed into the phone at that one. John had another swallow of juice.

“She’d rather hear it from you. How are you, John?”

“I’m doing all right.”

“You keeping busy?”

“Busy enough. Some skip tracing, mostly surveillance.”

“You miss the job?”

This gave John pause. He didn’t know how to articulate it to Bo, but in an odd way, it was kind of freeing, not being a cop. The only thing he really missed was the satisfaction of hearing the cell bars clang shut and knowing, at least for tonight, the asshole inside wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. Once in a long while, he thought of the way it used to make his brain buzz when he dissected a crime and figured out what had happened, and how and why. But for the most part, John didn’t miss the bureaucracy or the paperwork, and with one exception, he didn’t miss the courtroom.

 _I miss running in to Evangeline in the hallways_ , he thought.

“Sometimes. You busy these days?” he asked.

“I probably could use a vacation,” replied Bo, stalling.

“I hear Chicago’s nice this time of year,” said John, dryly.

“Way too cold. I want to have to have to wear shorts.”

“That counts me out.”

Bo laughed again, wanting to delay the part of the conversation John would find unpleasant.

“So, you seeing anyone?” asked Bo, doubting he would really get an answer.

John swallowed his gulp of orange juice, hard.

“Uh, I met someone. But it’s pretty new.” _It’s true_ , he thought. _I did meet someone._

“That’s good.”

John felt the tingle at the base of his neck, the one that always told him something bad was coming.

“You probably haven’t heard…”

_Just tell me, Bo._

“Evangeline’s getting married. First week of May.”

John paused long enough to make sure his voice came out neutral and clear.

“She deserves to be happy.”

###

He’d been in Chicago just over two months, with no plans to move on. This place had everything he needed, save the one thing he could reasonably expect to get. It had a respectable-sized river, cold air, and a decent place to knock one back after work.

He’d even developed a routine: eat, walk, work, eat again, maybe work some more, stop in at Dugan’s, go home to bed and try not to dream.

With the routine came community.

He’d formed a small group of acquaintances that he saw every day: Luis and Clifton at the desk downstairs, Paula or George or Charisse at one of the two restaurants he tended to frequent, Howard at the camera store, and either Colin, Brian, or Drew, depending on the time of day he hit Dugan’s. And, more recently, Dani and Allan at the vet’s office.

There was slightly more to it than that, of course.

Each morning, he went out and took photographs, letting his loneliness and pain, the pain he’d never share with anyone, letting it aim and focus and shoot, each click releasing a tiny bit of his anguish.

John’s cell phone rang. As always now, he looked at the caller ID before answering.

_That can’t be good._

The phone rang again and John took a deep breath. After all this time, the Bureau was going to question him about his involvement in the custody case, and exactly what he’d done during the brief time that Marcie had been on the run with Tommy. She hadn’t even been gone 36 hours before he and Michael had convinced her to come home, but the initial speculation had been that John was helping her hide.

_Shit._

He his stomach dropped as he pressed the button.

“McBain.”

“John! Larry Stone.”

John recognized the voice, and then he was even more confused. He’d taught some of Larry’s classes one summer when the older man went on an extended vacation. The wife had put in her Federal time and was putting her foot down: two months off, or she was through. When he got back, they’d team-taught the last month of the course. _Are they using him because we were friendly?_ he wondered. _A friend would have recused himself._

“Hey, Larry,” he replied, giving nothing away.

“I hear you’re between gigs, McBain.”

John paused. _So it’s not for questioning. Did Bo make a call?_

“I guess good news really does travel fast,” he smirked.

“Not nearly as fast as the bad news,” joked Stone.

“So how’d you hear? And what did you hear, cause if you’d heard the whole thing, you wouldn’t be calling.”

“Let’s just say you have friends in high places.”

“That’d be a first.”

“You remember Mercedes?”

“Mercedes. Dominguez, right? Yeah. She was in the IT unit.”

“It’s Mercedes Halliwell now. And she’s going on maternity leave,” said Stone, his voice teasing.

John said nothing, remembering Stone’s penchant for jokes.

“Looks like Ralph learned how to shoot straight after all.”

Both men chuckled, and then Stone spoke first.

“So now you ask me about your start date,” he prompted helpfully.

“When’s my start date?”

“The fourth.”

John weighed his choices. He knew that if Nora Hanen decided to bring charges against him, even a temporary career with the FBI would be out of the question. But if he said no to Larry Stone now, he’d be saying no forever, and that was a door he was not willing to slam shut.

“I’ll be there.”

“You got people that can vouch for your whereabouts?”

John knew what he was asking. He’d need to pass a background check again, and people who quit their law enforcement careers under a cloud of suspicion and left town on a moment’s notice, and who now got their mail addressed to General Delivery, Chicago, were in for especially thorough scrutiny.

“I got people,” he replied.

“Then get me their names and addresses. Today. And let ’em know we’ll be calling on them.”

“Done.”

“Better start packing your shit.”

“I never unpacked.” Except for the camera gear, that was the truth.

“See you in a couple weeks.”

“I’ll be there.”


	8. Gallery

It was half past eight and Evangeline already knew how her night would be ending: her feet would hurt from standing on spiky heels, her cheeks would be tight from smiling all night, and her hand would be sore from having been shaken a million times and too hard.

She sipped her wine and caught little snippets of other peoples’ conversations as she walked by.

“He won’t give her the divorce because without her, he’s got no war chest… No, I know, isn’t it cute? It goes with everything… They wanted $7,500 but it was a dump… So they hired him a male assistant and he made a pass at that one, too. No one’s safe!”

 _DC is the world’s biggest small town_ , she thought. _Even Llanview wasn’t as provincial as this._

She turned the corner, thinking how monotonous these fundraisers were. When she’d clerked at the Supreme Court, fresh out of law school, she never would have been invited to an event such as this. At the time, however, the coverage in the papers had made them seem so glamorous.

 _I never thought glamorous would be so damn boring_ , she thought ruefully.

Times like this, the endless hamster-wheel circuit of parties like this, she was shocked to think how different her life in Llanview had been, how different she had been during those four years she’d made it her home. Now, she wondered how long it had been since she’d played pool or hung out in a bar to see a local band. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a burger or had a beer, much less had a beer straight out of the bottle. And even the _idea_ of karaoke made Dennis’ skin crawl, as she’d so recently proved.

In addition to her fiancé, there were more than a few familiar faces at the gallery, but no one she wanted to talk to. So she kept her eyes turned toward the artwork on the walls, and wondered how long Dennis would make them stay.

She shook her head, looking at the black-and-white prints hung on the wall as she trailed by. They were comforting, familiar somehow. _Maybe I saw them in a magazine?_

Then, there on the wall was a photograph of a pair of arches. It might be a bridge or an aqueduct, with water lapping to the edge of the frame and fog hovering a few feet over the water. Evangeline recognized it instantly: years ago, John had a copy of this same photograph hung on the wall across from his bed.

Nearby was another one that John had hung near his apartment door: a phone booth, empty except for a hanging handset, with the moon reflecting off the streaked, dirty glass. It had been in a smaller frame then. The first time she’d seen it, she imagined she could hear the insistent dial tone coming from the booth.

Evangeline found it odd that she would be here, at a showing of a photographer that John liked. Intrigued, she walked around, wine glass in hand, admiring each image and wondering about the artist. He, she assumed it was a he, took photos of solitary things, strong, steadfast, man-made objects that cast long shadows in the late-afternoon light. This photographer found the mystical within the mundane. She stopped in front of a photo of a park bench overlaid with the angular shadow of a man: was the man coming to sit down and wait for someone, or was he walking away?

Walking into the next room, she paused for a long time in front of a photograph of a gravestone, shot while lying on the ground from the perspective of the deceased, with trees and sky framed by the tall granite edges of the nearby monuments. She never would have thought to lie down on top of someone’s grave, and even if she’d thought of it, she wouldn’t have done it. But the scene captured in the photograph was serene and calming, and Evangeline, for a moment, considered buying it.

Adjacent to the cemetery photo was one that let the viewer peer through the window of a café, at a table covered with wine glasses and ashtrays with lit cigarettes resting on them; the smoke curled around the stems of the wine glasses and up toward the patterned tin ceiling.

 _These must all have been taken by the same photographer_ , she thought, wishing she’d once admired John’s good taste, told him how much she’d liked the artwork.

 _John._ She’d have to call Nora and find out if she knew what he was up to, see if she’d found out anything new. Nora was the one person in her life who understood why she was still interested in her ex, and who wouldn’t give her a hard time for wanting to keep tabs on him.

She stepped around the freestanding partition, touching people lightly on their backs as she slipped by, careful not to spill her drink. On the other side of the wall was a single black-and-white photograph, three feet square, of two hands clasped together on top of a rumpled sheet. Even though it was a very close-up shot, it was obvious that one of the hands was belonged to a man and the other to a woman. The man’s long fingers laced in between the woman’s slender ones; she was dark-skinned. The man was not. Evangeline took a sip of her wine to try to get rid of the lump in her throat.

 _How can you capture intimacy like that?_ she sighed.

She loved that photograph, and wondered if she could afford to buy it. She looked at the placard to the left of the photo, and sure enough, a red dot had been affixed to the card. Someone else had beat her to it and that person would be hanging this piece in their home.

Evangeline stepped forward to examine the photo more closely. Just then, Dennis caught her eye from the side of the room. The lobbyist who was bending his ear was too self-involved to notice as Dennis gave her their secret signal: she was to come extract him in five minutes and they’d be out the door in seven. It was too bad, she mused, because for once at one of these never-ending fundraisers, she would have liked to stay longer and take in the rest of the photos, giving each one the time it deserved. Plus, she wanted to find out something about the artist.

She finished the last of her wine and made her way to the ladies’ room. She’d learned early on with Dennis to do that on her own time, not his. With him she knew what to expect. But it was a small price to pay. A boring fundraiser was worth the box seats at the National Symphony, the tennis lessons with a former seeded pro, the seats right down front in the first row of the Orchestra for the American Ballet Theatre, even though he’d rather sit in the dress circle and be seen by those who cared about such things. _And_ , she reminded herself, _he takes good care of me._ He took her exactly where she wanted to be: in a committed relationship with a man who loved her and told her so.

Evangeline washed her hands and fixed her lipstick, still thinking about John and remembering a time they’d been playing pool, and she’d wanted, like with everything else she did, to learn quickly and be the best, but also wanting to lose quickly so their game would be over and so she could take him back to his place and help him out of his clothes. _Why do I still think about that when I’ve got all this?_ she wondered, annoyed with herself. Shaking off her memories, she fixed her best apologetic smile on her face for the benefit of the soon-to-be-abandoned lobbyist, and went to extract her soon-to-be husband.

###

Evangeline could not believe her ears, but there was no mistaking her fiancé’s words. She looked up at the ceiling and lay still for a moment, not wanting to get back out of bed and get her diaphragm. She hated that thing, hated every single thing about it, from its pale color to the way it jiggled in her hands, to the way the cold jelly smelled and felt. Dennis had insisted on her getting one years ago, and he’d insisted on it again when they got back together. He hated condoms as much as she did and he didn’t want her taking chemicals that might screw up her system or make her fat.

Evangeline shook her head side to side. She was already warm and ready. She punctuated her next words with carefully placed strokes and kisses.

“Aw, D, come on. Even if anything _does_ happen, and it won’t, but if it did, we’ll be married a while by the time the baby’s born.” She leaned over and nibbled on his earlobe, just the way he liked.

“Ummmm.” Evangeline thought she might get her way as Dennis shifted toward her and moaned, but ultimately did not give in. “Save the arguments for court, Leenie.”

Dennis patted her on the ass. 

“Come on. I’ll wait on you.”

_Right. Like you have any other choice, Dennis._

Evangeline set her tongue firmly in her cheek and turned her head so she could look Dennis right in the eye, making sure her disappointment was noted. Then she threw the covers way back to make sure he got to experience the cold, too, and flounced into the bathroom.

She pulled out the almond-colored plastic case and the tube of jelly and got to work, moving faster than she’d planned because the plain tan rug was small and the grey tile floor was freezing cold against her feet. Then she sighed and adjusted her attitude, because he was right. Their plan was to get married and then start trying for the baby six months later. She looked into the mirror as she rinsed her fingers in the sink.

_He’s right. There is a right way to do this._

Evangeline blew out a breath and dried her hands on the monogrammed beige towel. She turned the knob and posed inside the open doorframe, knowing the backlighting from the bathroom would show off her curves. She watched as Dennis reached for himself under the covers, and she curled her lips into a wicked grin.

“All right, Mr. Lockhart. You won. Now what are you going to do for _me_?”

Dennis grinned back, then curled his finger toward her. She crossed the room slowly, making him wait despite the chill in the air. She’d be warm enough in a few minutes, anyway. He pulled her under the covers into a tight embrace, burying kisses into her neck.

He took his time, placing tender kisses over the hollow at her throat, one hand straying to her waist but no lower.

 _Why is it when I’m on fire, he can’t get it in gear?_ thought Evangeline, reaching for his hardness and wondering what he was waiting for. He took the hint and rolled on top of her, still kissing her sweetly. She pulled him close, placing hot, sucking kisses along his neck. He pressed against her and she shifted, moving them to the center of the bed.

“Baby, I need you,” she whispered into his ear.

“I’m right here, Leenie,” he whispered back, raising up to look at her, his expression tender.

Evangeline ignored the nickname and shifted underneath him to position him at her entrance, where she wanted him most.

“I need you _here_ , baby.”

She drew him to her, pulling him inside, then sighed as nature took over. Evangeline, relieved, lay back. She let herself enjoy him and their closeness and allowed her mind to drift wherever the sensations took her.

The problem was, for the first time with Dennis, the sensations weren’t taking Evangeline anywhere.

She shook off the feeling and concentrated on the moment, knowing they’d connect if she could just focus. She paged back through her memories, thinking of they time years ago when they’d stayed at his parents’ house over the holidays and she’d sneaked quietly into his room. They’d made love quietly on the floor because his brass bed squeaked so loud. She remembered the time she’d gone to his office to pick him up for lunch, and when one phone call became five as she waited, less and less patiently, she’d decided to teach him a lesson about putting her on hold. She’d unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his pants and taken him quickly into her hand and whispered into his unoccupied ear that if he stopped talking, she was history. She’d stroked him, and then sucked him, into complete submission, getting more and more turned on as he tried harder and harder to talk normally to the person on the other end of the line.

Dennis held her close, his hand tight on her hip and his other hand underneath her. He moved rhythmically, moaning softly, still nipping at the base of her throat.

 _Not a great recipe for intimacy_ , she heard Nora’s voice echo loudly in her head.

Evangeline stretched her head back and remembered she hadn’t told Laurel that the arbitration had been rescheduled in the Contadino case.

 _So it wasn’t boring with John_ , rang Nora’s amused voice _._

Evangeline wrapped her legs tight around Dennis’ hips and held him tighter.

 _John._ If she thought about him, just thought about the two of them and the way it had been when they made love… _It would feel good but it would be wrong_ , she thought. A brief image of their second time together flashed behind her closed eyelids, the look on his face, the desire that colored the planes of his face as she’d pushed him down on his bed. Knowing it was wrong, she let herself remember how John felt, how much he’d needed her, how she’d wanted him so much that she’d taken control, done with him exactly what she’d wanted. And then a while later, when they’d made love again, it had been John’s turn. She remembered the rush of him taking her from behind. She thought of the way he’d spread her legs with his knees and felt a tingle below her stomach and relaxed, knowing the tingle would turn into that pulling feeling and make her ache for release.

“Leenie, baby, you feel so good,” breathed Dennis, destroying the progress she’d made.

His voice was jarring: it was completely wrong against the erotic images in her head. Evangeline kissed him, hard, to shut him up. She moved against him and felt herself get close for a minute, but then he shifted the way he held her, taking it slow again.

 _Great. Now he’s barely even moving_ , she thought.

If he’d just do one thing and stick to it, she’d be able to concentrate and move against him the way she needed. She tried to show him, angling her hips lower, but he reached underneath her, cupping her ass and pulling her up to meet his thrusts.

 _Our timing’s off_ , she thought, knowing it wasn’t going to happen, at least not for her.

Evangeline sighed, then tightened her legs around Dennis even more, pulling him close and breathing hard into his ear. That seemed to do the trick for him, and he moaned loudly as he released.

A moment later, he rolled away from her, one arm thrown back.

“You feel so good, Leenie.”

Evangeline lay on her back, breathing quietly.

Dennis recovered a bit and pulled her close, then turned her face gently to his.

“I love you, Evangeline. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

He kissed her softly, then pulled the blankets back over them both. Evangeline snuggled down, her head on his shoulder and his arms locked tightly around her. He was asleep inside two minutes. Evangeline lay quietly beside him, his words, those three words, the words he said to her so easily and so often, echoing in her head.

 _Is it worse to fantasize about another man or fake an orgasm entirely?_ she wondered. Then she decided it was better to leave that question unanswered, since those seemed to be the only two options for the foreseeable future. _For the rest of my life._

She turned herself so that Dennis was spooning her and decided, again, that the problem lay with her.

 _Sex isn’t everything_ , she thought. She reminded herself that she and Dennis had everything else: the communication, the common goals, the same wants and desires. _And if you have all of that,_ she thought, _then you have everything you really need._

###

More often than not in the weeks since the night of the party, Evangeline found herself thinking about those photographs at the gallery. At least, that’s what she told herself she was thinking about. 

_Only one way to get that song out of your head, Vange_ , she thought. _Sing it over and over again until you’re sick of it._

She tossed her pen on top of her desk, then packed up her briefcase and left her office. Twenty minutes later, she was finding parking in Old Town and walking through the glass door of Jordan Patel Fine Art.

Evangeline wandered through the gallery, looking at the photos again in the late-afternoon light. She walked slowly, knowing the whole time that she was stalling: all the photographs were good, but only one of them had drawn her back here. She shook her head, annoyed at herself, and marched over behind the partition, to the photograph of the clasped hands.

“A lot of people like that one the best,” came a knowing voice from behind her.

“I can see why,” replied Evangeline. “You can tell how much those people love each other, just from their hands.”

“I might have to steal that line. You describe that piece a lot better than I do,” laughed the woman. She twirled a lock of silver hair behind one ear, then extended her hand. “Jordan Patel.”

Evangeline took in her patterned silk salwar kameez and her honey-colored skin, and introduced herself with a smile.

“Describing it’s one thing, but I’d much rather buy it.”

“I have to apologize. It’s not offered for sale, but I couldn’t not show it.”

Evangeline nodded, wanting to do her shopping in peace.

“I didn’t get to see everything at the fundraiser the other night, but there are several I’m considering.”

Jordan saw she didn’t need to sell what was already sold.

“My office is right upstairs,” she said, pointing to the circular staircase tucked into the back corner. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Evangeline walked the other direction to the back of the gallery, to the room she hadn’t had time to get to the night of the party. All the photographs in this room were on the large side, save for one in the far back corner. She stepped over to check it out, then, not believing her own eyes, moved closer. She put her face inches from the glass, clutching her stomach and gasping in surprise.

_It’s not possible. It is absolutely not possible._

She looked to the left of the photo and read the even Helvetica lettering on the card.

_J.T. McBain declines to discuss his creative process or his background. The way he puts it, he could tell you, but then he’d have to kill you. However, it is obvious that in his travels through the United States, he has taken pictures of the places and things, and very rarely, the people, that have moved him._

_The artist uses both a Leica and a Nikon camera and overwhelmingly prefers film to digital media, and black-and-white to color stock._

Evangeline looked back at the photograph of John. His hands were spread in front of his face, shooing the camera away, with only one eye peeking out. It was quintessentially John, shy and beautiful and self-conscious whenever the camera got turned the other way round. This picture had been here the night of the party, she was sure of it, and she’d missed it completely.

 _All this time, those photographs in his apartment, they were_ his _—he took them and he never once mentioned—_

And then the truth of the situation hit her, hard. Her heart pounding, Evangeline practically ran back to the photograph of the hands.

_That is my hand. That’s us. That’s me and John. Oh, my God._

Evangeline stood rooted to that spot, stunned. It was several minutes before she stopped shaking. Then she turned for the spiral staircase.

###

Two weeks later, early on a Saturday afternoon, Evangeline returned to the gallery and stepped briskly through the glass door. All of the photographs she’d already bought had been hung at her office, causing a minor tiff with Dennis when he’d picked her up for a networking lunch.

_“They’re dull, Evangeline.” Dennis barely looked at each photo before moving to the next. Evangeline watched him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, why not promote an up-and-coming African-American artist?”_

_The assumption in his statement made her angry, and she allowed that anger to percolate upward. She fired her sharp response like a warning shot across his bow._

_“I see, Dennis,” she said archly, “you can determine the color of this photographer’s skin, just by looking at these pictures?”_

_She purposely played the pronoun game, even though he was unlikely to connect that these images were the work of her ex-boyfriend._

_“No, Evangeline, not at all!” He was surprised by her inference, then waved his hands dismissively. “What I mean is, anyone could have taken these pictures.”_

_Evangeline swallowed hard and locked up her desk. No, Dennis, she thought. Only John could have taken them._

Now, she’d come back for the ones she hadn’t bought the first time. She walked directly to the rear of the gallery and climbed the circular staircase to ask Jordan again about the one photo that remained imprinted on her brain.

The gallery owner came from behind her desk to greet Evangeline with a kiss on both cheeks, then gave her a wide, excited smile.

“Evangeline! You have perfect timing. I debated calling you… do you want to meet him?”

“Who?” whispered Evangeline, barely able to get the word out.

“The artist!” responded Jordan with another smile. “J.T. McBain, who else? He’s coming to show me some new work. And of course, thanks to you, to pick up a big check.”

Evangeline swallowed and put her hand to her stomach.

“No… I would be… uncomfortable… having him know that I…” she stammered.

Jordan nodded.

“Well, you still should meet him: he’s charming. And besides, here he comes,” she said, tilting her silvery head down to the first floor, where John was pulling the door open, oblivious to the presence of his ex-girlfriend watching from above. “Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.”

Evangeline, panicking, considered asking if there was a back door, but then she’d have to explain herself if she ever wanted to come back to the gallery. She squared her shoulders and watched as John came awkwardly up the narrow spiral staircase, maneuvering slowly, with a huge portfolio tucked under his arm. As Jordan moved across the small office to greet him, Evangeline lowered her hands and surreptitiously pulled off her engagement ring, dropping it into her purse. It was fully a minute before she felt guilty for doing so; her motives were pure. She simply knew it would hurt John to see it.

Jordan gave John a big hug, then held her hand out, showing him they had company. Evangeline met his shocked eyes with wide ones of her own. She pressed her lips together, communicating wordlessly the way they always had, that Jordan didn’t know of their relationship, and hoping John would play along.

“Evangeline Williamson, this is J.T. McBain. John, Evangeline was just admiring your work.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, taking the hand he’d politely offered, and noticing that his hand was shaking just as much as hers was.

“Pleased to meet you too,” he replied quietly.

 _What are you doing here, Evangeline?_ he wanted to shout. And, he wanted to pull her into a tight hug and not let go for a very long time. But their time was past; so he jammed his free hand, still burning from her touch, into his pocket and waited to see how he should proceed.

“Jordan’s right, I’m a big fan of your work,” she babbled, blushing. “I saw some of your photos once, a long time ago at the home of a… friend, but I had no idea they were _yours_.”

Now it was John’s turn to blush, and he was relieved Jordan was standing right there; if they had been alone, John knew Evangeline would cross-examine him, trying to find out why he’d never told her he’d hung his own photographs in his apartment, and by omission, passed them off as someone else’s.

“I’m glad you like them.”

Evangeline nodded, her eyes shining, wondering how much Jordan was catching on to the subtext of the conversation. Their silence stretched past the minute mark while Jordan busied herself locating John’s sales statements and check. Evangeline held back, hoping Jordan would return, but Jordan didn’t want to interrupt the first meeting of her best new artist and her best new customer.

 _I guess it’s up to me_ , then, thought Evangeline.

“So it was a pleasure meeting you, but I have to go. I’ll leave you to your appointment.” She bent to pick up her bag.

“Why don’t you stay?” asked John, though it was probably putting Jordan on the spot. “I’m just showing my latest prints; maybe you could give me your take on them? Does that work for you, Jordan?”

“That’s a great idea,” she replied, thinking that Evangeline would probably want to buy some of these, too.

“No really, I can’t. I’m no expert.”

“But you do know what you like, don’t you?” John’s words, as direct as his eyes staring right into hers, were infused with meaning. _Stay, Evangeline, I’m ready to share this with you._

Evangeline nodded mutely, and allowed Jordan to lead her, with John following a step behind, to the overstuffed chairs grouped around a low glass table in the corner opposite the spiral staircase. Jordan got them seated, pretending she didn’t notice their spark, then turned back to the railing and called downstairs to her assistant and asked for espressos and Pellegrino.

Meanwhile, John opened up his portfolio, pulling out a large set of contact sheets, and taking the opportunity to look up at Evangeline.

“’s good to see you. You look good.”

She wanted to brush the long layers of his hair away from his cheekbones. It surprised her that she still wanted to do things like that, after all this time, and she made a mental note to proceed cautiously.

“It’s good to see you too. How have you been?” Concern was evident in her voice.

John sat up straight, bristling a bit as he misinterpreted her concern for pity. _Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea_ , he mused, giving in to his second thoughts.

“I’ve been just fine,” he replied stiffly.

Jordan observed the two of them as she returned to the table, wishing Evangeline would date a man like John instead of that monotone corporate ballbuster she’d met the night of the fundraiser. The meeting proceeded, Evangeline sitting back and watching John work with Jordan, and John surreptitiously watching Evangeline’s reactions and wondering what the next step was going to be. Half an hour passed, and when Jordan stood up, Evangeline stood with her.

“So it has been a pleasure,” she said, “but I really do have to go.”

John had anticipated this, had known she would try to leave first.

“Jordan and I are done here,” he said, getting a confirmation nod from Jordan, who’d walked back to her desk across the room.

“Absolutely, I’ll be in touch.”

John looked Evangeline directly in the eye. 

“Wait. I’ll walk out with you.”


	9. Representation

John closed up his portfolio and they said their goodbyes to Jordan, then led Evangeline downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. He spoke first.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

Evangeline laughed and checked her watch.

“I’d have figured you’d want a beer.”

John smiled and looked down. _She still knows what I want_ , he thought. He looked up at her, still smiling, then decided on the bar across the street instead of the one two doors down from where they were standing.

“How about over there?” he asked, pointing. “O’Malley’s gotta be better than a place called Infusion any day of the week.”

Evangeline laughed again. For her these days, it was always places with names like Infusion and they were always trendy and trying too hard. She was glad he chose the other place.

He walked her across the street and pulled the heavy door open, then waited for her to choose where they’d sit. Evangeline took her time, trying to marshal her thoughts. She had so many questions. She wanted to know about the photographs, about what he’d been doing since the last time she saw him… what was he doing here? She’d heard he lived in Chicago now.

John slid in across from her and leaned back against the high oak back of the booth.

Evangeline, trying to project the same calm exterior, flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned back, too.

“John, your photographs, they’re—”

“So I figured you’d be married by now.” He dove right in, partly because he was curious and partly to deal with the elephant in the room so they could talk about more interesting things.

 _So he heard about it_ , she thought. _I wonder who was brave enough to tell him._

“Um, we’re engaged,” she said. “This May.”

 _So much for never getting hitched_ , thought John. He hadn’t really believed it until he’d heard her say it out loud. It surprised him that after all this time, the thought she’d consider marriage with someone else still hurt him.

“So where’s the rock?” John had also been surprised to see Evangeline’s ringless hand; he’d pegged Dennis for the kind of guy who’d mark his territory.

 _How the hell does he know these things?_ she thought.

“It’s at the jeweler’s,” she said, looking down at her hands, then gazing right at him.

John looked her in the eyes, wondering why she was lying to him. He took a deep breath and looked away and decided to let it slide.

Evangeline decided to ask the question that was bothering her the most, too.

“Why didn’t you return my calls?” she asked softly.

He’d anticipated that one, too.

“I didn’t return anyone’s calls.”

“I heard about Tommy,” she said, switching gears and wondering if he’d open up about it. “I’m sorry.”

John nodded his thanks.

“I heard what you did for Michael,” he said. “Thank you.”

 _So he knows about that, too._ Evangeline, taken by surprise, blushed. She’d called Todd Manning the day she’d left Llanview and told him that she’d stayed his friend, stood by him as he’d made bad decision after bad decision, that she’d defended him loyally in the courtroom, and outside of it as well, for years. And then she’d called in his debt to her: if Todd wanted to continue their friendship, he’d put his ego aside and arrange a visit with Tommy for Michael and Marcie McBain, outside the view of the Llantano County Court system. Todd had given her hell, but ultimately he’d done what Evangeline wanted. Marcie had been skeptical of the offer, but Michael had jumped at the chance. The second visit, Marcie had come, too. And a third visit was planned.

“I didn’t do anything,” she demurred. “It was Todd’s decision.”

“Sure. He’s always full of good ideas,” smirked John.

Evangeline shook her head stubbornly. Todd lived in the grey areas of the law far too much for John’s taste, and the two men were never going to be friends.

“Did they resolve all the custody issues?” she asked.

Evangeline looked down, remembering how, when she’d first called Nora to catch up and asked innocently about the case, Nora had flat out told her she could not discuss it, owing to Evangeline’s prior relationship with John. The fact that Evangeline had represented Todd more than once was never mentioned, and that, plus the way Nora had started in almost before Evangeline had even brought it up, told her that Nora must still be furious with John for his part in keeping Tommy—Todd Junior now—from his natural father. Then, later, when they were talking about Evangeline’s sex life, all of Nora’s hostility toward John had evaporated. Evangeline was still amazed at the way Nora was able to separate her personal and professional lives.

“You’d know more about it than me at this point,” he said.

“Not really. But I was surprised you quit the force?” she asked. “It’s not like you to quit.”

John shrugged, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“Word came down it’d be better for everyone if I just went away.” She raised her eyebrows. “Just resign, quietly.”

Evangeline couldn’t believe John had just given up being a cop: it was the only thing that truly mattered to him.

“Why didn’t you fight it?”

John leaned back from the table, lacing his long fingers together, and shook his head.

“Try me. I’m a good listener,” she said.

John shook his head again.

“I can’t talk to you about it,” he replied softly. If they ever changed their minds and came after him, she could be called to testify for the prosecution.

She leaned back, gauging his mood. _He’s still trying to protect me_ , she thought. John looked across at her, at the fire behind her eyes, and felt a pang of emotion settle just over his solar plexus. He pushed out his lower lip, wondering why she was even interested in his ridiculous problems, but said nothing.

“Why didn’t you ask me to represent you?” she asked quietly.

“It’s not your problem, Evangeline.”

John silently cursed the waitress, wishing he had a beer so he’d have something to do with his hands. Evangeline could see by the way he held himself still that he was just waiting for her to lose interest, move on to the next subject.

 _God, he’s stubborn_ , she thought.

“How about that drink?” she asked.

John looked around for a waitress, because one had not yet appeared.

“I’ll go,” said Evangeline, standing and rummaging in her purse for some money.

John, ever the gentleman, stood up to go instead. Evangeline stilled him with a hand to his shoulder, pushing him gently back toward his seat.

“Let me,” she said.

“Okay, but I insist,” he replied, whipping out his wallet and pulling out a twenty dollar bill.

“Fine,” she said, taking the bill out of his hand with a devilish smile.

John forced himself not to watch her walk over to the bar, but he allowed himself to watch as she walked back toward him. He took shallow breaths, wondering if the ache he felt for her would ever go away. Smiling, Evangeline handed him a Heineken in the bottle and slid into her seat, being careful not to spill her glass of wine or drop any of the change.

The corners of Evangeline’s mouth twitched as she took her first sip of wine. She put the coins down in front of him, then laid the bills on top. John’s eyes never left her face as she stacked the bills slowly, one by one, until she came to the very last dollar.

This, she folded in half lengthwise and dropped, tentlike, on her side of the table. She put her elbows on each side of the bill, rested her chin on top of her clasped hands, and raised her eyes to his in challenge.

“Why don’t you ask me to represent you now?”

John met her gaze, amused.

“I thought that dollar-bill thing only happened on TV,” he smirked.

She raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing.

“If and when I need a lawyer, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, fine, I can do it your way,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say you were a member of law enforcement who willfully and persistently failed to perform his professional duties due to conflict of interest—”

John raised both his hands, palms out.

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he said, pointing to the dollar bill folded in front of her.

“I’m always on your side, John.”

“It’s just so hard to tell sometimes.”

Evangeline didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she sipped her wine, watching John and waiting for him to tell the story his way. John shrugged, then slumped down against the back of his side of the booth, hating having to talk about his failures with Evangeline more than he hated having failed.

“Nora was going to hand down charges no matter what, even if she couldn’t prove her case, just to make a point.”

“It’s bound to be very personal for her,” said Evangeline. For many years, the paternity of Nora’s son with Bo Buchanan had been kept a secret from both parents. Their marriage was ruined by the secret and Bo had missed out on half of his young son’s childhood. Now, there was no way Nora was going to let that happen to anyone else, even someone she despised as much as Todd Manning.

John just nodded, wanting to get the explanation over and done with.

“So at first, I figured I’d take my lumps, let them charge me and either I’d get what was coming to me, or I wouldn’t.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Evangeline was already mentally preparing for the fight she’d wage on John’s behalf. It would be her first interesting case in months.

“Evangeline, I can only speak for myself here.” He chose his words carefully, then looked her right in the eye, hoping she would fill in the blanks all on her own. “It’s possible… I might not be the only one who knew about Tommy. And it could be… a _problem_ if I’m called to testify.”

The argument taking shape in Evangeline’s head was instantly put on hold as she processed the new information. She wondered who John was protecting, working from the outside in, and thinking in turn about those she knew to be involved. _Not Todd. Definitely not Rex Balsom. Not Lindsay Rappaport—the charges against her had been dropped for lack of evidence. Not Marcie. That leaves…_

“Michael,” she breathed.

John was as proud of her intellect as he was ashamed of himself and his brother. Michael had perjured himself in the first phase of the custody trial, saying he’d found out about Tommy’s parentage at the same time as everyone else. Now, if John took the stand in order to defend himself and try to get his job back, he’d have to go along with his brother’s lie and perjure himself in order to protect Michael.

Rather than wrestle with his conscience over that one, he’d quit.

“John, I’m so sorry,” she breathed, trying to toe the line between genuine concern, which he’d tolerate, and pity, which he wouldn’t. “Does he have any idea what he’s cost you?”

John looked away, trying to keep it under control. He hadn’t talked about this with anyone, not a soul.

“What I lost is nothing compared to what he lost.”

 _And even as a cop, I couldn’t do a damn thing about it_ , he thought, feeling the guilt press on his chest all over again. Evangeline reached quickly across the table and grabbed John’s hand, surprising him, and making him more emotional than he had been.

Neither one of them said anything for a very long time. Even the waitress, who’d returned, knew better than to interrupt. She busied herself straightening her station at the corner of the bar. The silence stretched until it was long past uncomfortable.

 _Why isn’t she letting go of my hand?_ he began to wonder. John watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at their entwined hands, and she had an odd expression on her face. She looked tense, like she was about to cry. Feeling John watching her, Evangeline looked up and inspected his face. He was closing himself back up. She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s over and done. I’ve moved on.” John looked Evangeline in the eye. “And so have you.” He pulled his hand away and leaned back again, lacing his fingers together at the edge of their table.

 _That’s the official McBain Change of Subject look_ , she thought, cocking her head to the side and waiting.

“What, you don’t want to tell me all about how great your life is?” he joked.

“It’s not that exciting… still an attorney.”

“Criminal? Or did you finally switch to corporate?”

 _How does he just know these things?_ she wondered again.

She and Dennis had gone around several times on the subject; he’d wanted her to move to an in-house position. He’d set up an interview for her with a fraternity brother, now the managing partner at a top Georgetown firm. But Evangeline hadn’t seen herself behind a desk all day, working on the same, standard mergers and acquisitions: she’d miss the courtroom. She’d miss defending people. She’d miss _winning_. Plus, she didn’t want to start over. Even if she didn’t start at the bottom, she’d still be competing with much younger, much more ambitious associates for the same few partnership slots.

She’d given it a lot of thought, then called and apologetically cancelled her interview. Dennis, thwarted, had drawn the line. _No more lowlifes_ , he’d said. _No more jailhouse law, Leenie: it’s a deal-breaker for me._ So she’d given in, finding a boutique firm that specialized in white-collar crimes, one with an outside man who handled the initial meetings, who signed the clients with the firm. She’d accepted the job, then gone back to Dennis with her best and final counteroffer. _I’ll never have to step foot inside the jail_ , she’d told him. _But I’ll still be in court. And you win: no ‘lowlifes’._ At first she’d thought he’d made these rules because he was concerned for her safety, and he was, but one morning over breakfast as he scowled at the local news section, she’d realized he’d had another reason. Dennis was very image-conscious. He didn’t want her photo in the paper with the lowlifes. It had annoyed her, but after a bit, she’d understood. If you were a lobbyist, your image was your bread and butter.

“Still criminal,” she said dryly. _Barely._ “Mostly financial crimes now. You know, hand-in-the-cookie-jar. Fraud, ethics. Those poor souls who don’t know where to draw the line.” The cocky words were out of her mouth before she remembered that that was exactly what had gotten John into trouble, and she felt awful for being so glib.

He met her eyes, smirking. _’s not like I don’t deserve it_ , he thought.

“John, are you sure you’re ready to give it up?” she asked one last time, thinking that he shouldn’t quit the force without a fight. “Let me negotiate for you, maybe I can get you an eventual return to service.”

He shook his head. Hard as it had been, he’d already made peace with the situation.

“See, this is why we broke up. I was always putting the bad guys away, and you were always trying to get ’em out,” he groused.

“No, the reason we broke up is that you wouldn’t tell me you loved me,” she sassed.

John sucked in a breath and stared at the table, considering.

“Well, I don’t know if this can fix that. But I should have told you I loved you back when I had the chance.”

He blew out another breath and kept his eyes down. _There,_ he thought, _I said it. Finally._ He sat motionless, his eyes following the lines of the woodgrain under the polished surface of the table.

 _Why would he do this to me now?_ Hearing the words after so long made her angry and hurt and sad at the same time, and though she was sure her face looked surprised, she held herself back. _What the hell am I supposed to say?_

 _Why isn’t she saying anything?_ he thought. He hadn’t thought she’d be smiling to hear him say the words, but he’d expected some kind of response, something. He could tell from Evangeline’s silence that it had been a bad move, and he made to apologize.

“Listen—”

“Why did you do that _,_ McBain?” she gulped. “Now, after all this time…”

John just shrugged. _Some things just don’t need explaining._

“Why would you—” she sputtered. “You know I’m with Dennis, you know we’re about to—”

“Because I’m selfish,” he snapped, finally looking up. He felt his heart clutch as he took her in, looked at the blush in her face, at the furrow in her brow. “Because I’m being selfish and I wanted to try and make it right.”

Now it was Evangeline who couldn’t meet his gaze. She sniffled back the tears she wouldn’t let herself cry and looked away with a wry smile.

“Selfish. That’s a new one for you.”

John looked at the hurt he’d caused—again—and tried to explain.

“Evangeline, I followed the rules my whole life. Followed ’em even when they didn’t make sense. The one time I couldn’t make myself follow the rules, look where it got me. And…”

Evangeline heard the anger and pain in his voice and looked back to his face.

“And?”

John allowed himself a wry smile.

“And I’m done,” he said, pursing his lips. “The rules kinda went out the window, same time as the badge.”

She wiped her cheek with her fingers and pushed out a breath.

“I guess I’m not used to you being the bad boy,” she said, with a short, soft laugh.

He rewarded her with a grin.

“I guess that’s one good thing about leaving the force, then.”

There was a pause in the conversation as they both reflected, trying not to think about the past and wondering how to proceed in the present. John drank more of his beer, getting to the bottom of the bottle, and wondering if he should order another round, when Evangeline spoke.

“So I have to get going,” she said. “We have ballet tickets.”

“So, ballet,” he intoned. “Sounds fun.”

“Don’t even try, McBain. You know, you still owe me a ballet from way back when.”

“I _owe you_?”

“You don’t even remember,” she sighed in mock annoyance. “I went to an Eagles game with you; you were supposed to go to the ballet with me.”

“I remember the Eagles game,” he said, his voice low. It wasn’t so much the game he remembered, it was afterward, when he’d taught her how to throw a football down near the docks. He’d watched, helpless, as she’d spiraled his favorite football into the murky water of the Llantano River. Then, later, they’d gone back to his apartment and gotten naked and she’d done things to him that had made him forget all about the lost ball.

“Don’t worry,” teased Evangeline. “I gave up on getting you to go a ballet a long time ago.”

“Well, you never know,” he said, standing with her and peeling off a few singles to leave on the table. “As long as I’m in this experimental phase, I might just try anything.”

“You are pretty different, these days,” she laughed. “I can’t guess what you’re going to do next! I kind of hate to leave.”

“I kind of hate to go, too. But I do have to get back. Sandy’s gonna wonder what the hell happened to me.”

The words were out of his mouth before he thought about it, and when he saw Evangeline’s face drop, he started to explain.

Evangeline held both hands up, palms out, stopping him.

“Oh, no, McBain, no way. I don’t even want to know.”

“Not even a little bit?” teased John, his hands on his hips.

Evangeline, caught, chewed the inside of her lip.

“Just tell me she’s not a redhead,” she teased back.

John tipped his head back and laughed.

“She’s a blonde. Short. With amazing green eyes.”

Evangeline hated her just on principle.

 _Well I hope she keeps you warm at night_ , she thought sarcastically, looking away.

Observing the tension in Evangeline’s posture, John wasn’t sure if they were going to shake hands or not, and felt a secret thrill when she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He squeezed her back, just for a second, and then she released him and stepped away, extending her right hand.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, J.T. McBain. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you too, Ms. Williamson. I hope you’ll keep in touch.”

Evangeline looked skeptical.

“Are you gonna answer your phone from now on?”

John pursed his lips and nodded, trying to suppress his grin, as Evangeline continued with a grin of her own.

“Then, you know, I think I will.”

And though he wanted more than anything to walk out with her and follow her wherever she was going to go, John stood and watched past the gold-edged shamrock painted on the plate glass window as Evangeline hurried outside, got into her car with a smile and a wave, and drove away.


	10. Ilsa Lund

Evangeline had been having trouble sleeping, or rather, she’d been having trouble getting to sleep. Once asleep, she had vivid, entrancing dreams that left her tired and wanting to sleep even more.

Since it had gotten hard to relax enough to go to sleep, Evangeline had laid out specific rules for herself. She put on the television and set the sleep timer for 60 minutes. Romantic or scary movies were not permitted, and none of the main characters were allowed to die. Most importantly, no new movies were allowed. The idea was not to get involved in a new movie and stay up even later: the idea was to watch a movie you’d seen a million times before and let it bore you to sleep.

Last night had been no exception. Dennis was working and due home very late, so at least she got to watch TV in bed. Clicking through the channels she’d found two choices: _Big_ with Tom Hanks for the thousandth time, or _Casablanca_ , which completely violated the no-romance rule. She turned the channel to _Big_ , opting, as always these days, for the right choice, the safe choice. After ten minutes, she gave in and reached for the remote, turning the channel to _Casablanca_.

She shifted wistfully under the covers, remembering the last time she’d seen the classic love story. It had been her official first date with John and, oddly, she’d been terribly nervous. _As long as we’re sleeping together, do you think we should go out on an actual date?_ she’d teased one night. She’d given him options: golf, bowling, a movie. He’d chosen _Casablanca_ at the Thalia, and they’d finally had an official date, both of them counting the minutes from the time she’d left his apartment that morning to days later, to the time the movie ended and they could go right back to his place and pick up where they’d left off.

She pointed her toes against the tucked-in sheets, remembering how, the last time she’d seen these memorable images, she’d been more focused on watching John out of the corner of her eye, and wondering if he was going to put his arm around her or hold her hand. He’d done both, and then she’d wondered if he was going to kiss her.

Thinking of those kisses, Evangeline still felt a pull in her stomach.

She laid in bed, watching until the very end, keeping herself awake until Major Strasser was deservedly shot and Rick Blaine and Louis Renault walked off together into the fog to begin their beautiful friendship. Evangeline clicked off the TV and set the remote on the nightstand, turning over and snuggling down under the covers.

###

_The fog swirled as their car arrived at the tiny airport, and the four of them stepped out of the vehicle onto the wet tarmac. Evangeline stood next to Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains and the other guy whose name she could never remember._

_Victor. Victor Laszlo, thought Evangeline. Which means I’m her. I’m Ilsa Lund._

_She looked down to see that she was dressed in a light grey travel suit straight out of the mid-forties, complete with a ladylike hat, a thin clutch purse, and a pair of low-heeled spectator pumps._

_Bogart ordered the uniformed man to write the names on the letters of transit, and when Evangeline questioned him, her voice trembling, he turned and stepped in, holding her shoulder, and in his unmistakable husky voice, delivered his line._

_“You’re getting on that plane.”_

_She looked up into his eyes, into the eyes of John McBain._

_“I said I would never leave you.” She breathed out Ingrid Bergman’s line, shaking her head and feeling the tears well on cue._

_“And you never will,” he replied._

_“Kiss me, John, kiss me as if it were the last time.”_

_He swooped her into a devastatingly erotic screen kiss, one hand around her waist, bending her body to his will, and the other hand spread across her cheek and jawline, holding her face to bring her darkened lips to his._

_John finally let her go, looking deeply into her eyes, and Evangeline was mesmerized until she heard someone clearing his throat loudly behind her. Todd Manning, wearing Captain Renault’s French police uniform, stared back at her. Evangeline, trying to recover from John’s kiss, could hardly breathe, let alone figure out how John and Todd were in this dream with her._

_The tall figure of Victor Laszlo returned from putting his and Evangeline’s luggage on the plane. She watched him stride back to her, skirting around the puddles, and as he got close, she saw that Victor was Dennis, and his eyes were focused solely on her._

_John stood next to Todd, his hands resting on his hips, and watched silently as Dennis, with his eyes, directed Evangeline to come to him. On autopilot, Evangeline moved to Dennis’ side, linking her arm through his and waiting obediently. Then Dennis’ cell phone rang. He covered the mouthpiece and whispered that it was the Attorney General’s office. Then he stepped a few feet away and took the call, asking questions about a grandfather clause and the likelihood of potential 23 rd-hour legislation. Evangeline kept hoping John would speak up, not let her go through with it. But it was Todd Manning who blurted out the obvious. _

_“You can’t go with him!”_

_“But Todd, I have to follow the script! You know I leave with Victor!”_

_“Dennis. His name’s Dennis.”_

_“Right, Dennis.” Evangeline put her fingers to her forehead and nodded, trying to fix her dream-husband’s name into her memory._

_“Fine. Just one question. You’d rather be in a passionless marriage than be with the man you’ve had the greatest sex of your life with?”_

_John finally looked up at them, smirking._

_“Wrong movie, Manning. But yeah, she’d rather be the First Lady of Czechoslovakia.”_

_“And you, McBlaine, you’re not going to stop her?”_

_“I’m no good at being noble.”_

_“No, no, McBain, that’s all wrong!!”_

_Todd threw up his arms in disgust._

_“We’ll always have Llanview?” John asked hopefully, rubbing one eyebrow with his thumb and concentrating, trying to remember his part._

_“Jesus, McBain, you have so few lines! Why do you always screw them up?”_

_Frustrated with McBain and his ineptitude, Todd threw up his hands and decided to plead his case with Evangeline. He hurried around Dennis, who was still yapping on his cell phone and looking at his watch, and stepped directly in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and put his face level with hers._

_“Evangeline, if that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him,” he said, angling his head toward John, “you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”_

_“But what about Victor?”_

_“Dennis!! Den-nis!”_

_Evangeline blew out a frustrated breath and tried again._

_“But what about Dennis?”_

_Todd looked back over at John, opening his eyes wide in invitation._

_“Anytime you’re ready, pal. Jump right in, get your girl.”_

_John remained steadfast with his hands on his hips, and Manning sighed loudly, to no one in particular._

_“Jesus, do I have to carry every scene that I’m in?” Then he straightened up and shouted over to McBain. “A little help here, you know??_

_Evangeline tried to calm him down._

_“I’m sorry Todd, this isn’t easy for me.”_

_“Look, never mind. Let’s just get through it. So where are we…” he sped through his lines, trying to remember where he’d left off. “Passionless marriage, plane leaves the ground, regret it, rest of your life. Right.” Todd put his Captain Renault voice back on. “Okay: I’ll do the thinking for all of us. Evangeline, you’re getting on that plane with John where you belong.”_

_Evangeline looked over to John, who looked back at her the way he always had, with love and pride and belonging and a tiny, endearing pinch of desperation. Then she turned back to Todd._

_“You’re right.”_

_“I’m always right.”_

_Feeling more confident, she leaned around Todd to speak to Dennis, and tapped him on the sleeve. Dennis looked down at her, still nodding and listening to the caller on the phone. Evangeline put her hand out, formally, as though they were business associates and their scheduled meeting had come to an end._

_“Dennis, I have to go now.”_

_Todd had turned in order to see Evangeline say goodbye, and watched, annoyed, as she improvised. She shook Dennis’ hand, pumping it up and down, but not knowing what to say next. Todd rolled his eyes, then fed her the line._

_“Here’s looking at you, kid,” he whispered, helpfully._

_Evangeline snapped her head around to look back at Todd._

_“Isn't that John’s line?” she asked._

_Todd rolled his eyes again._

_“Evangeline, John can’t say goodbye to Dennis. Only you can do that.”_

_“Well, my character would never say that, Todd.”_

_“Fine. Let’s just move it along.” He whipped his index finger around in an imaginary circle._

_“Well, take care, Dennis. Be good to yourself, okay?”_

_Dennis nodded and continued talking on his cell phone, oblivious to anyone but his contact in the Attorney General’s office. He held up his index finger, letting her know he’d be off the phone in a minute, then turned away to concentrate on his call. Then he walked out the of the hangar without so much as a look back at Evangeline._

_“McBain? Rick?” Todd tried it both ways, trying to get John’s attention. “Come on, man, that’s your cue… happily ever after… any time you’re ready, McBain.”_

_John just stood there, his gaze fixed determinedly on Dennis’ back, and waited until the other man walked slowly into the mist, still working the analyst on the other end of his cell phone._

_The moment Dennis was swallowed by the billowing fog, John strode to Evangeline, scooped her unwaveringly into his arms and carried her to the waiting twin-engine plane._

_“My work here is done,” smirked Todd Manning, picking up the bottle of Vichy water and waving goodbye as Evangeline disappeared into the open hatch of the plane._

_The crew folded up the stairs and closed the door and the plane took off, heading north to Lisbon and freedom. And Evangeline relaxed back in her seat next to John, his arm around her and their heads touching, staring deep into each other’s eyes, as the music rose and the words “The End” appeared._

Evangeline rolled over in her sleep, calmed and satisfied

###

Evangeline sneaked a peek at the alarm clock, not sure if she was going to get up this time or not. She’d been drifting between dreams and wakefulness the entire morning and the dreams had been so good, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to wake up. Besides, when she finally got out of bed, she was going to have to smooth things over with Dennis. They usually went to the club early for tennis, and this was the second time she’d slept in during the last three weeks. The first time, he’d made excuses for her and fussed, worrying if she was coming down with a cold, but this time, there was no cold and he was going to be annoyed.

Evangeline heard the foyer door close and snuggled into her pillow, pretending to be asleep. She sat up a little bit, stretching, when Dennis began pulling clothes from the drawers and stacking them into piles on the low, upholstered bench at the end of the bed. She rubbed her eyes, then smiled weakly at him, wondering if she was going to get a smile in return.

“Did you find a fourth?”

“Yeeessss. Did you get some rest?”

“Yes. And I’m feeling better.” She watched him for a few moments, then asked the obvious. “What are you doing?”

“I am on my way to Chicago.”

Evangeline sat all the way up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“For how long?”

“Probably a week. Meetings with Petrie-Marsh. My flight’s at one thirty.”

“D! We have symphony tickets tonight! And something else on Tuesday, and the Mellon Foundation Gala…”

“Ballet tonight, not the symphony,” replied Dennis, heading for the closet.

 _That man’s mind is the place details go to die_ , she thought.

“I’m sorry I have to leave you on such short notice,” he said, softly. “I got you something, though.”

“Dennis, I don’t need anything.”

“I know, Evangeline. But if I’m not going to be here to take care of you, I wanted to make sure you’d be taken good care of anyway.”

Evangeline’s posture softened.

“What did you go and do, Dennis Lockhart?”

“I got you a spa weekend at Circe. A car will be here for you at twelve-thirty. You can go just as you are.” He looked her right in the eye, and she knew he wanted to see if she was impressed. She was.

 _How did you ever swing that?_ she wondered. Circe was always booked six months in advance. If you weren’t the wife of someone very important in the DC pecking order, you couldn’t get in.

“Dennis, thank you. But are you sure you have to go?”

“I’m sure.” He continued pulling clothes from drawers.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she began. “But tonight, the ballet… it’s the Makarova staging. It’s supposed to be amazing, and I’ve never seen this version…”

“Then ask a friend. Rianne. Or Paulette,” he replied, still packing and not missing a beat. “One of them should be able to go with you. Did the cleaners deliver my gold tie?”

Evangeline laid back down, then reconsidered and reached for the remote control to open the heavy beige sueded drapes. It was a beautiful day outside and light flooded the room. She threw back the matching sueded comforter and crawled catlike to the end of the bed, then rose up, her knees wide apart and her shoulders back, and waited for Dennis to return from the bureau.

“It’s cold in Chicago, you know,” she purred.

Dennis tossed two more shirts onto the pile at the end of the bed and looked over at her, putting his hands on his hips. Evangeline stopped cold at the sight, then recovered. She pulled her wrapper out from under the pile of Dennis’ things and slipped it on.

“How can I help you get ready?” she covered, hoping Dennis hadn’t noticed her quicksilver change of mood.

Dennis put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her nose.

“You can help me find my gold tie.”

Forty minutes later, Dennis’ driver had taken him off to the airport. Evangeline made herself a cup of tea, then brought it into the bedroom and gotten back under the covers. She laid there for a good ten minutes, one hand under her camisole, touching her flat stomach, and the other hand holding her cell phone. And then she dialed.

Evangeline was surprised when he answered on the first ring. She’d been expecting to leave him a message.

“McBain.”

“Hello! Hi. It’s Evangeline. How are you?” she stammered.

“I’m good. Are you okay?” asked John. Her voice sounded strange.

“Yes. I just didn’t expect you to answer.”

“I told you I would.”

Evangeline recovered her equilibrium.

“So, you owe me.”

“What did I do now?

“No, this is an old debt. I happen to have ballet tickets for tonight.” Evangeline swallowed while John said absolutely nothing. “I was hoping, if you’re still in your experimental phase, that you’d, uh, agree to accompany me.”

The silence ticked from uncomfortable to painful and Evangeline wished she could vanish.

“I know it’s short notice, but—”

“Where’s Dennis?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended to.

“He’s in Chicago. On business.” Evangeline swallowed again. “He left this morning. He told me to ask a friend.”

“So you have permission.”

Evangeline had given a lot of thought to what John’s response might be, but nastiness hadn’t been high on the list. She put on her attorney voice.

“I suppose _,_ if you really wanted to, you could call it that.”

“You’re right. I’m being rude.”

“I don’t know. I would have called it ‘questionable tactics’.”

“Fair enough. This is new territory for me. But if the offer is still good, I would enjoy seeing my first ballet with you, Ms. Williamson.”

“Yay!” she crowed.

“So what do you want me to wear?” he asked.

“What???”

“I know how the game is played in that town, Evangeline. It’s not about the ballet, it’s about who’s at the ballet. So what do you want me to wear?”

She paused, annoyed to have him telling her the score, and at the same time, pleased that he cared about appearances and didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

“Just a suit and tie. You still have the white shirt I bought you?”

Evangeline subconsciously licked her lips, remembering how good he’d looked the first time he’d tried that shirt on for her. It had French cuffs, and she’d been impressed watching him put the cufflinks through smoothly, as though he did that every morning. Sometimes it had been a toss-up which she liked more, watching him dress or undress.

“Yeah. What time?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“I’ll pick you up at five.”

“John, that’s two hours early!”

“Evangeline Williamson, if you’re taking me to the ballet, I’m taking you to dinner.”

She heard his voice and knew there was to be no argument about it. And her body heard his voice, too. It responded the way it always had when he’d used that commanding tone with her. He hadn’t used it often, but when he did…. Evangeline shook her head and made herself return to the present. _Friends. Friends now._

“Meet me at five-thirty. I have to work. You know where my office is? Bose and Hancock.”

“I’ll find it. See you then.”

###

 _Wonder what Mr. Right thinks about the photographs_ , he thought, surprised—shocked, actually—that she’d plaster his work all over her office. Then he figured it out. _She hasn’t told him they’re mine._ He watched as Evangeline shut down her computer. She was wearing a sleeveless black satin dress with a low-cut square neckline that gave the barest glimpse of the tops of her breasts. It had white piping at the décolletage, but was otherwise unadorned. Her hair was just as severe, pulled straight back into a twist, and softened by dangling earrings that showed off the length of her neck.

She was wearing the burgundy lip gloss that, to John, made her lips look like cherries, and even after all this time, he wanted to kiss that lip gloss right off. He kept his hands in his pockets and made himself think of other things as he strolled around her office.

“I hardly recognize you, Counselor.”

“What do you mean?

“You know, ivory-tower corporate law instead of defending the little guy.” _Not to mention marrying Mr. Perfect over there_ , he thought, catching the obligatory desk photo of Dennis with his arm tight around Evangeline’s shoulders. _They look happy._ “It’s just not the way I remember you.”

“And how do you remember me?” she sassed.

John looked down at the grey-patterned carpeting. God, how he remembered her… most of all he remembered the way she tasted and how he could never get enough of her. But that was over, and he wasn’t allowed to say those things to her any more. Hadn’t been allowed to for years.

“I dunno. I mean, you were always perfect when people were watching…” he stopped himself from saying the rest, until Evangeline challenged him with her eyes: _just say it_. He smirked, remembering how once upon a time, they’d been able to let go with each other. “But you knew how to be a bad girl, too. Now you’re perfect all the time.” He smiled so she’d know it was a compliment.

Evangeline grinned back automatically, their shared memories covering the guilt she momentarily felt. _I’m far from perfect_ , she thought. _I’m here with you, aren’t I?_

Seeing the grin, John relaxed for a moment.

“Am I allowed to tell you you look beautiful?”

“I think the rules allow for a compliment here and there. So before I forget,” she smiled, “you look very beautiful, too. Though I notice you didn’t follow instructions.”

He was wearing his second-best suit, not the one he reserved for funerals and the few weddings he got invited to, but the charcoal-stripe one that he could be comfortable in. He did wear the white shirt with the French cuffs, but his shirt was open at the neck.

“What, the tie?” he shrugged, opening the collar a little wider. “I can get away with it. I’m an artist, remember?”

Evangeline laughed.

“Does that mean you’re going to wear your sunglasses inside?”

“Oooh, I hadn’t thought about that one. That’s a good idea. Seriously, I’m sorry about the tie. I thought I had one, but I couldn’t find it.”

In fact, as a guest instructor at the Academy, he wasn’t required to wear a tie, which was fine with him.

“It? You have a zillion ties!”

Evangeline had easily doubled his tie wardrobe during the year they’d dated. Before her intervention, he’d tended to solid-color ties that matched his solid-color shirts.

“I guess they’re all packed away at my mom’s. And I didn’t feel like buying one special for a one-time deal. Forgive me?”

Tie or no tie, he looked great. Evangeline looked up, smiling, from under lowered lashes.

“Never could stay mad at you, McBain.”


	11. Entrée

“So I heard you moved to Chicago,” said Evangeline, nodding thanks to the waiter as he placed her entrée in front of her.

“I didn’t really _move_ there,” smirked John. “I kind of just ended up there.”

“Why Chicago?” she asked.

John watched the waiter recede and picked up his fork, stalling for more time. None of the reasons were ones he wanted to share. _Far away from you. Far away from memories of you. Near water. Cold air._

“Why not?” he retorted. He watched her face fall a little at his sharp remark. “It was accidental, more than anything. Got on the Interstate and drove till I couldn’t keep my eyes open. When I woke up, it was Chicago.”

“And you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Evangeline widened her eyes, wanting him to fill it in for her. “There’s a lot to do there.”

“Such as?”

“It’s a big city. They got everything.”

“Where did you work?”

“I didn’t, much.”

“That surprises me,” she smiled, openly curious. “I can’t imagine you not working. Are you sure your name is John McBain?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” he smirked again.

“So how did you fill your time?”

“You saw how. I took pictures.”

Evangeline nodded, biting her lip, and thinking about the picture of them again. She was definitely going to ask him about that tonight, but not yet. That picture probably was just a picture to him, and if that was true, she didn’t want to hear it until the night was over.

“So what brought you back East?”

John chuckled.

“I got offered a gig teaching at the Academy again. Didn’t really want to come back, but they don’t ask you twice, you know?”

Evangeline didn’t disguise her surprise.

“So much for being a bad boy, I guess.”

“What?”

“All that talk the other day in the bar… your experimental phase… done with the rules…. You talk big,” teased Evangeline, “but you’re right back being a cop.”

John, starting to feel irritated, sat back coolly against his chair.

“I _am_ done with the rules. Doesn’t mean I can’t _teach_ the rules.”

He stared at her until she met his eyes. It was important to him that she knew he’d been telling the truth the other day. He was never going to lie to her again.

Evangeline pressed her lips together and nodded once, not wanting to fight. She had no idea why she was riding him so hard, and lectured herself to ease up.

“This is a nice place,” she observed, sipping her wine.

“You don’t know what I had to do to get a table here,” he joked, though he wasn’t joking.

“I hope you didn’t have to sell your soul. Anywhere would have been fine.”

“I have no soul, Evangeline. I thought you knew that better than anyone.” He said it, then immediately felt bad for letting his bitterness show. “No, Evangeline, don’t listen to me. You don’t understand. I wanted to come here again.”

“You’ve been here before.” Evangeline narrowed her eyes.

“Once. Years ago.” John put down his fork and took a drink of the Pinot Noir he’d ordered. “It’s a good memory for me, and I don’t have that many.”

Evangeline raised her glass to him.

“I know that better than anyone. So what was the occasion?”

“I solved my first case at the Bureau. Caitlin came down and I took her here to celebrate.”

Evangeline took a big drink of wine.

“I was afraid you were going to tell me you got engaged here, or something.”

John looked at her quizzically, then shook his head.

“I wouldn’t do that in a restaurant.” His voice was quiet and he wondered why the hell she’d think he’d do something cheesy like that. “Where’d Dennis ask you?”

Her eyes went wide and then she procrastinated, fussing with her napkin. She couldn’t look at John and talk about this, so she focused on an older couple across the room. They were holding hands, and it annoyed her. She looked the other direction.

“At home. We were putting up the Christmas tree, and he…” her voice trailed off. She took a drink of the wine, emptying her glass. “It was kind of a surprise.”

“Sounds romantic,” offered John, trying to be the good guy she still seemed to think he was. _Anything I say about the guy’s gonna sound like criticism._

“Actually… well, Dennis is pretty direct. It was, uh, more direct than romantic.”

John raised his eyebrows and chewed. _Now what am I supposed to say?_ he thought.

Evangeline wished either John or the waiter would refill her wine glass. Her mother had drummed into her that _A lady never pours her own drink at the table. She must wait for her host or another man to do it._ She could hear Lisa’s prim and proper voice now.

“So where did Caitlin ask you?” she queried. John nearly choked on his bite of steak. Evangeline covered quickly. “I mean, where did you ask Caitlin?”

John put down his fork again.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “I want to. I want to talk about this.”

“Okay,” he swallowed, “but it’s not some huge romantic thing.”

 _No surprise there_ , she thought, but kept her expression blank. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for the answer. The empty wine glass was forgotten.

“Well, I uh, bought a ring—”

“Where?” she asked.

“Nowhere special. A small jewelry store you’ve never heard of. Why?”

“No reason. Sorry. And?”

“And I took her to this playground where I used to play when I was a kid.” John fiddled with the stem of his wine glass, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “There was this spinner thing, kind of like a merry-go-round, you know? But you can push it yourself.”

Evangeline nodded, her lips parted slightly. It was as though the body snatchers had done away with the real John McBain and in his place was an equally handsome lookalike who could talk about his pain. She mentally shook herself to attention, not wanting to miss a moment.

“So I get her on the thing and I spin it up, not too fast or anything, and then I got on.” For the rest he needed a drink. “And here comes the corny part. I asked her if she wanted to go on a ride with me, for the rest of her life.”

“Oh, John.”

He put up his hand, needing her to just listen if he had any hope of getting through it.

“And she said yes, so there was, you know, kissing,” he waved his hand. “And then she asked me why the playground. And I told her.”

Evangeline looked him in the eye, thinking about how different her life would be today, if only he could have done this a few years ago. She felt a cool fury settle around her shoulders.

“I picked that place because, before her, it was the last place I remembered being able to dream with my eyes open.”

 _To hell with ladylike_ , thought Evangeline. She lifted the bottle and poured her own damn wine, and some more for him, as well. She picked up her glass.

“I told you it was corny. I wasn’t trying to drive you to drink.”

“It’s not corny, John.” _No, it’s only the single most romantic thing I’ve ever heard._

John, buttering the other half of his baked potato, watched Evangeline pick at her food.

“You don’t like it?”

She ducked her head and took a tiny bite of the mushroom galette on the side of her plate.

“It’s really good,” she replied. John put his knife down and stared at her. “I just had a long week.”

“You do seem a little out of whack,” he said, looking down and then meeting her eyes.

“Thanks. Really.”

John sighed, chewing, searching to explain.

“It’s like…”

“It’s like what, John?”

Evangeline put down her fork and picked up her wine glass.

“Tonight, watching you, it’s like you’re in a play.”

“What does that mean, ‘a play’?”

John swallowed, wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth about it.

“You keep stopping yourself before you say things. It’s like you’re being who you’re supposed to be, not who you want to be.”

“And what is that _supposed_ to mean?” she asked, echoing him.

“You weren’t like this the other day in Alexandria,” he tried to explain. “You’re… you’re not… I know it when I see it, that’s all.”

John didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Evangeline crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair defiantly. He waved his hand at her.

“All of this. Is this what Dennis wants?”

Evangeline was still and silent. The only thing that gave away her annoyance was the furrow between her eyebrows.

“You’re out of line,” she snarled.

“I’m not saying you don’t love the guy…”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Feelings Expert,” she snapped.

“Evangeline,” he sighed, wiping his fingertips on his napkin. “Look, I’ve been there.”

“Been where?”

“Where I think you are, right now.” John took a deep breath and continued, knowing Evangeline wouldn’t want to hear this and it likely meant the end of their night. “It’s hard not to. But I think most people choose a partner with their parents’ eyes.”

She said nothing, but her icy stare spoke volumes.

“This is weird,” he said sheepishly. “Look, I loved Caitlin.” He raised his eyes up to let Evangeline know he wasn’t saying those words to hurt her. She returned her face to neutral, moving not at all, save for blinking, until he continued. “But part of the reason I loved her was because she was the kind of person my mom wanted for me.”

Now Evangeline raised her eyebrows. Not only was he talking, openly, about feelings and relationships, but the subject of Caitlin had always been off limits. Before tonight, except for the one time, John had never talked about her. And now this was twice in one night.

“What did your mom want for you?”

“I don’t know. I told you before, what she was like. Caitlin was sweet. Kind. She loved kids.”

Evangeline didn’t know what to say. Anything she said about his murdered fiancée would sound like criticism. And she wanted him to keep talking.

“She would have put me first.” John sounded disgusted with himself. “She always put me first.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Evangeline ventured.

“No, what I mean is…. she took care of others first. I guess my mom thought, with me the way I am…”

Evangeline nodded, intrigued enough to move past John’s earlier comments.

“You complemented each other. You were happy together.”

“But I couldn’t talk to her about… about my work. She asked about it sometimes, but I couldn’t…” He hadn’t wanted to share his nightmares with her. “And it sounds cold, but her job, with those kids… I never knew how she could do it. She’d work and work to make a connection with one of them, give them everything she had. She’d come home exhausted, just nothing left. And the next day, that kid would look at her like he didn’t know her. She’d start all over again. She never quit.”

Evangeline put her tongue into her cheek.

“Maybe the two of you were more alike than you thought.”

“Maybe. We were close. But it was different than us.”

Evangeline’s eyes shot up.

“Different how?”

“I knew you could handle it. Handle me.”

Evangeline processed what he was saying. He’d been more open with her in the last ten minutes, more unguarded, than he ever had been before.

“Whatever gave you _that_ idea?”

John looked down, embarrassed. He’d opened the door, talking about all this stuff, and not exactly thinking ahead.

“Come on,” she dared him. “Spit it out.”

“Well, I knew the second time we, uh…”

 _All this time and he still can’t talk about it_ , mused Evangeline.

“What is it you thought you _knew_ about me?” she sassed, relaxing now that the conversation was about John and not about Dennis. And especially not about Evangeline-and-Dennis.

John threw her a look. _Maybe this isn’t a great idea, talking about us?_ Evangeline smiled and bit her lip, challenging him, so he shrugged.

“You probably don’t remember this, but that night, you kind of pushed me down on the bed and you, uh… went for it.”

Evangeline made herself breathe in and out normally, as though the memory of that night did absolutely nothing for her. _I wonder if he fantasizes about that night, too?_

“So that, and how even before that, you got it, got my job…” He took a drink and wished he wasn’t the only one saying anything.

“I see. So you just liked being the passenger for a change. Is that it, McBain?”

John sighed and shook his head. _Is she poking at me on purpose?_

“With you, that was the first time I ever let anyone else _drive_ , as you put it. That was all new for me.” He checked to see if she got that he was telling the truth. Then his voice got very husky. “But I wasn’t always the passenger, Evangeline.” _And you know it._

“Hmph,” came her reply.

“I don’t think you remember that night the way I do,” he continued. Evangeline snorted again. “Afterwards, you were practically ready to run out the door. You were acting all tough, like what we’d just done was no big deal. You’re acting like that right now.”

Evangeline held her breath and said absolutely nothing.

“That’s not the you I remember. That’s just your game face. And you’ve had it on all night long.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes and let him know exactly what she thought of his theories.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m being profiled,” she announced loudly, pointing at John. “Famous FBI profiler, right here at _my_ table, yes sir.”

John picked up his fork and knife and stabbed another piece of steak so he wouldn’t have to talk. _Where is all that anger coming from?_ he wondered. He chewed and swallowed, shaking his head the whole time. _I don’t have to take that from you, Evangeline_ , he thought. Finally, knowing he had absolutely nothing left to lose, he put his fork back down and spoke, his voice quiet.

“Evangeline, I know the act when I see it. I know it because I do it myself.”

There was a long pause as Evangeline, having just lost the argument, sat back and finished her wine. She set the empty glass deliberately back in its place, put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her hands, and gazed deep into the eyes of the man across from her. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and they obviously still saw deep into her soul.

“What?” he asked, avoiding the ostentatious glare of the diamond on her finger.

“I was going to say, ‘let’s not talk about the past’, but…”

“But what?”

“But suddenly you’re really good at it.” She paused, then let herself ask the question that was tumbling in her mind. “What have you done with John McBain?”

John pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side.

“Forget about him. He’s not worth your time.”

“Yeah. That’s what he always told me.”

John finished his dinner in silence while Evangeline picked at hers. John paid the check, then followed Evangeline to the front of the restaurant and helped her with her coat.

When they stepped outside into the chill night air, John stopped and leaned against the white-painted brick of the building.

“Maybe we can’t do this,” he said. _Stuff like this is why they say you can’t stay friends_ , he thought. “Let me take you home, or you know, I can drop you there, if you want to go to the show yourself….”

Evangeline shook her head stubbornly, then leaned against the wall just next to John.

“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be,” she told him, tipping her head back against the bricks. “But I can do this, I can totally do this.”

They rolled their heads toward each other, and John could see that Evangeline’s mask was gone. He stuck out his right hand.

“J.T. McBain. Pleased to meet you.”

“Evangeline Williamson,” she replied. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

They shook hands, his hand warm and hers cold, the way it always had been, and started over. John was the first to speak.

“So, what’s for dessert?”

###

“Listen, if you don’t like it, we can leave at halftime,” smirked Evangeline as they entered the Kennedy Center. It was exactly what John had said to her that first time he’d taken her to the stadium to see the Eagles play. She grinned, remembering further that he’d instructed her not to say the words ‘Lincoln Financial Field’ in his presence; he’d holed up at home to mourn, alone with a twelve-pack, on the Sunday they’d finally imploded The Vet.

John laughed too, remembering. They made their way further inside, and John helped Evangeline out of her coat as they neared the coat check. He accepted the claim ticket, then strode back to Evangeline with a grin on his face.

“Damn, I forgot. I left my sunglasses in my coat pocket.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to figure out another way to break the rules, I guess.”

John smiled. _No problem._

“So, what do I need to know?”

“You don’t need to know anything,” she replied. “You just watch.”

“No, there’s a story, right? School me.”

Evangeline bit back a grin and looked up at him, enchanted. He was really trying.

“Well, this ballet is usually three-and-a-half hours long.”

For a moment, John looked terrified.

“Don’t worry,” laughed Evangeline, “we’ll just be seeing excerpts… the famous parts.” John nodded and Evangeline continued. “So it’s about an Indian temple dancer who falls in love with a warrior. But he’s pledged to the daughter of the King, and there’s a Brahmin who wants the dancer for himself.” Evangeline watched John’s face. “You following?”

“Yeah. Basically, we got ourselves motive.”

“Basically,” laughed Evangeline.

“So who dies?”

“How do you know they die?”

“Otherwise, you ain’t got a story,” observed John.

Evangeline nodded.

“Right. So the dancer gets bitten by a snake hidden by the King’s daughter—”

John shivered.

“I hate snakes.”

“Well, don’t worry, they don’t use live snakes.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, the Brahmin offers the dancer the antidote for the snake bite, but she chooses death instead of life without the boyfriend.”

“He’s all that, huh?”

Evangeline punched him in the arm and went on.

“So the warrior smokes opium and he reconnects with his love in nirvana, but he wakes up and then he has to get married to the King’s daughter.”

“That’s it? That’s the end??”

“Well, not exactly. During the wedding, the gods take revenge and the temple is destroyed with everyone in it. And the dancer and the warrior are reunited in heaven.”

“Wow,” said John. “No loose ends. So I’m guessing there are no cops in this ballet.”

Evangeline burst into laughter, and several people turned to witness her lack of decorum. Noticing their stares, she covered her mouth, and John laughed too while she got it under control.

“So, McBain, any questions?”

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and took in the vision of Evangeline. In contrast to the way she’d been at dinner, she seemed herself now, relaxed, so he went for it.

“Only one. Do you always wear your hair up now?”

“No,” she said, surprised. “Why?”

“Because both times I’ve seen you, it’s been up. I’m just more used to it down, that’s all.”

Evangeline tipped her chin up at John, then startled him by handing over her small purse.

She reached up and pulled out the single hairpin that held her French twist in place, then combed her fingers through her hair, shaking it out. The top was flat and the ends were curly, but Evangeline found herself not caring if her hair was a mess.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said John, perplexed.

“No, you’re right,” she replied. “I like it down better, too.”

Evangeline breathed through her nose and told herself she didn’t see how pleased he was, and that it didn’t matter anyway.

The lobby lights flashed. Both were glad for the interruption as they walked behind the usher all the way down to the front row, near the aisle of the center section. Evangeline kicked herself, wondering why she still cared what John thought and why, years later, she still responded to him. _It’s not like we just broke up_ , she fumed at herself. Though her hurt was finally gone, it had been easier to be near him when she’d still been angry with John. Now, she remembered their good times, their connection, both out of bed, and in it. She fanned herself with her program and concentrated on the foot of the stage and did not let herself look at him, not even from the corners of her eyes.

The orchestra played the overture and the red-and-gold curtain went up. The ballet began and John found himself enjoying it.

He watched intently, and though he could barely map what was happening in the dancing to the story Evangeline had told him earlier, he was amazed at the technical skill and precision involved. At one point, he counted 32 identically-dressed ballerinas on stage, moving in perfect unison. Also, he found himself pleased to be on Evangeline’s right. It meant he could watch Evangeline and the ballet at the same time. She was so focused on the dancers she didn’t catch him doing it.

Finally, the music and the dancers stopped, and the audience burst into approving applause. Evangeline clapped enthusiastically along with them, watching the bows. Then the moment the dancers left the stage, she tugged John’s sleeve and stood up.

“Come on,” she said, hurrying him up the aisle.

John followed behind her, wondering where the fire was.

Evangeline was moving fast because she wanted to buy cocktails, and the lines would be long. Dennis usually pre-ordered them for that very reason. _Forgetting how to do stuff on my own_ , she thought. _Not good._

She bought two champagne cocktails and a dessert, absolutely refusing to let him pay, because ballet was her thing, and also because it was scandalously expensive.

He bit his lip as he accepted his drink from her.

“What?” she asked.

“You were in such a hurry, I thought maybe you had to uh, go,” he smirked.

“No,” she laughed. “But the lines are even longer in the ladies’ room.”

“Then I don’t think I’ve ever seen you need a drink this bad.”

“I don’t,” she said, sharply. “I am trying to make sure you enjoy your very first ballet in the manner in which it is _supposed_ to be enjoyed.”

“ _Supposed to_ , huh? I guess you forgot how I feel about following the rules,” said John, mischievously.

“So? What do you think?” she asked, smiling back. She walked gracefully toward an alcove in the perimeter of the lobby. John followed half a step behind.

“I can see why you like it.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re testing me? A test?” John liked it when she challenged him.

She nodded, her eyes shining.

“Because it’s beautiful.”

“It’s beautiful, but that’s not why,” purred Evangeline.

“Why then?”

She stopped and put the dessert plate on a nearby bench, then kicked the tip of his shoe with her toe of her Manolo Blahnik pump.

“Take off your shoe.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take off your shoe.”

John hesitated, reluctant to comply. Evangeline couldn’t resist giving him a hard time.

“What happened to your big experimental phase?”

John met her eyes and smirked, then looked around to see who was watching.

“Come on, no one will see. Put down your glass.” He pursed his lips and worked the heel of one shoe against the other. “Now stand on your toe.”

John stood up on his tiptoes. His head was a full foot higher than Evangeline’s.

“No. On your _toe._ Put all the weight of your body onto your big toe.”

John lowered himself down, looking at Evangeline like she was crazy.

“Just try it. You can even hang on to the wall.”

He looked around one last time to make sure no one could see him, then stuck his sock-covered toe into the carpet and tried to raise himself up. His face screwed into a grimace and he blew out a short breath. He lasted barely a second before his face went red with exertion and his foot gave out from the pain.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, curling his toes and wishing the crunched feeling would go away. _That really hurts._ “I get it. Not just anyone can do that.”

Evangeline grinned ear-to-ear. 

“I can.”

She stepped out of her pumps and pointed her toe into the thick red carpet, lifting herself _en pointe_ without any visible effort.

“You think McNabb can do this?” she sassed. Their faces were close and their eyes were at the same level.

“Probably not,” said John, fluffing the back of his hair and feeling the stirrings of an erection.

John remembered all the other times he and Evangeline had been at the same eye level, their faces close like this. Mostly, though not always, they had been lying down, and it gave him an erotic charge to have their faces this close while standing up.

Evangeline lowered herself down, graceful as ever, and pointed her toe right back into her shoe.

“Ready for dessert?”

“Absolutely,” replied John, glad for the distraction and relieved she wasn’t going to make him try any more ballet. “What is it?”

It looked like a miniature chocolate soufflé, with snowflakes on top.

“Valrhona Chocolate Fondant,” said Evangeline.

“And what’s that foofy stuff on top?”

“Fleur de sel,” she smiled. “In John McBain-speak, that’s fancy French salt.”

“Salt instead of frosting. What a great idea! What will the French think of next?”

“Just try it.” She put a big bite on the spoon and held it out for him. He tasted it, and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“Doesn’t suck.”

“You have always had a talent for understatement.” Evangeline put down the spoon and took a sip of her champagne.

“Thanks. My turn.” John spooned up a bite for Evangeline, making sure to get some of the best part, the liquid caramel center.

Evangeline closed her mouth around the small bite, her face blissfully happy. John looked on, enjoying watching her eating dessert more than he enjoyed eating it himself. A small moan escaped Evangeline’s lips.

“Oh, my God, this is orgasmic.”

“Orgasmic, huh?” John grinned, knowing exactly what orgasmic looked like on Evangeline. _Actually, she’s pretty close._

“Definitely, orgasmic.” Evangeline opened her eyes to John’s amused stare. “Yeah. This is it. I faked all those other orgasms.”

John laughed out loud, then looked down.

“Yeah. I could definitely tell.”


	12. Nightcap

Evangeline headed straight for the bar. John, his head down as he shouldered his way through the crowd, knew he’d hate this part as soon as he saw the men standing outside, smoking: he’d be the only white guy inside. Just as he’d known they would, they all glared at him as he trailed behind Evangeline, and he found himself annoyed having to go through this again when he wasn’t even together with her. This part, the few times it had happened, had been easier when he’d carried a badge and gun.

John wondered what had her needing another drink so bad. At the restaurant, she’d had more wine than dinner and then, she’d had a glass of champagne, plus half of his, during intermission at the ballet.

He caught up to her as she stood on tiptoe on the footrail of the bar and leaned all the way across. The bartender, a huge man with salt-and-pepper hair and a wide mustache, was pulling her across the bar into a bear hug and Evangeline kissed him on the cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Vangie girl! Where did you come out of?

“Mr. Dez,” grinned Evangeline. “You know I always come home to you.”

“That I do, baby girl.” He released her, then reached for the shaker. “Usual?”

“Absolutely.” She looked over her shoulder at John. “Dez makes the best martini on the planet.” Then she turned back to Dez with an impish smile. “I’m going to go powder my nose. You take good care of John, here, for me?”

“You got it, Vangie.”

The two men watched her leave, then Dez turned to John and sized him up.

“You the one from Landfield, right?”

“Llanview. Used to be.”

“The cop?”

“Used to be.”

Dez observed John’s face carefully.

“Let me guess. You be wanting a whiskey right about now. A big one. Bourbon? No, wait. A course. Irish. Rocks?”

John shook his head _yes_ for the Irish, _no_ for the ice. Dez poured the drink and set it down on the bar.

“You’re a good guesser.”

“I wish. I recognized you. She showed me a pitcher a you once. Said she thought maybe you was the one.”

John picked up the glass and took a big drink, really needing it now to take the edge off.

“So Blue, whatcha do to fuck it up?”

“Blue?” asked John, bristling. He had never liked that particular euphemism for ‘cop’. Dez grinned.

“You see anyone else in this joint with blue eyes?” He chuckled, then tipped his chin out to the crowded room. “Trust me, in here, you safer as a civilian.”

John smirked back and took another drink. Dez stood with both thick hands on the bar, waiting for John to answer.

“Me and Evangeline, that’s a long story.”

“Usually is. Anyways, for a while there, I thought girlfriend was finally gonna get it right.”

“Evangeline always does everything right,” countered John.

“ _Almost_ always,” he chuckled, moving down the bar to serve the customers he’d been ignoring while he talked to John. John took another drink and wondered, irritated, if Dez usually talked this way about Evangeline when she wasn’t around. He turned to look for her when he saw Dez walking the length of the bar toward him.

“So you all back together? We should celebrate.”

John narrowed his eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Dez was trying to humiliate him.

“We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” Dez pulled his head back and widened his eyes.

“She’s getting married.”

John enjoyed seeing that Dez didn’t know everything about their mutual friend.

“Ask her. Just over a month, she’ll be Mrs. Dennis Lockhart. Esquire. She’ll show you the rock when she comes back. Ask her.” The words were like ashes in his mouth. John took another drink.

“Now what she gonna go and do that for?” groused Dez, visibly annoyed.

“You’re asking the wrong guy. She told me she was never going to get married.”

“That makes sense, given what she been through.”

John felt the eerie tingle at the base of his neck. He’d always wondered why Evangeline was so spooked by the idea of marriage and apparently Dez knew why. He watched as Dez filled another drink order and started to wash a couple of highball glasses. John pursed his lips, wanting to know more, but not wanting to violate Evangeline’s trust. _The man likes to talk, keep him talking_ , he thought.

“Makes sense,” agreed John, pursing his lips.

Except for a teenaged hitch in the Navy, Desmond Robinson had been behind a bar for all of his adult life, and he had a lie detector ten times as good as any used at the Bureau.

“You don’t know, do you?”

John looked a question at him, and Dez returned his gaze.

“You a cop. I’m surprised she ain’t told you.”

 _She obviously didn’t want me to know_ , he thought. John fought simultaneous impulses: he was annoyed to discover Evangeline had kept something important from him, and curious to know what the secret was. As always, his cop’s curious nature won out, and he looked Dez directly in the eye, waiting.

“Well, it’s all years ago now. But she had some troubles.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Dez shrugged, like it hadn’t been as bad as it was.

“With a man. Put her in the hospital.”

“Dennis?” John’s voice was low, barely audible over the music. _I will fucking kill him_ , he thought, his hands clenching into fists.

“No, man. Brother’s name was Marcus. From what I can gather, Dennis just always been a safe bet.”

“From what you can gather???”

“I ain’t never met the man.” Dez waved his hand around. “This ain’t his scene. When Vangie come by here, she come alone. Up to now, that is.”

John processed the information, wondering why he was the one she’d brought here.

“So where’s Prince Charming at?” Dez’s voice left no question about his opinion of Evangeline’s fiancé.

“Chicago.”

“Uh huh.” Dez nodded, knowingly. “And he cool with you keeping his spot warm.”

“I’m not keeping anything warm,” glared John, wondering why this man was getting under his skin so much. _Got nothing to feel guilty about_ , he thought.

John sat back, trying to figure if Evangeline was leaving him alone on purpose. Maybe it was another test. And then she was back, in a rush of flowery perfume, coming up behind him and throwing her arms around his neck. Dez had apparently seen her approach, and poured the martini he’d been shaking.

“Has Dez here been telling you all my secrets?” Evangeline’s voice was suggestive.

Both men looked surprised, but Dez covered it a lot better than John.

“Only some of ’em, baby girl.” Dez winked, telling the truth but making it look like he wasn’t. “Only some of ’em.” He knocked on the bar, then headed away to serve two men who’d been watching Evangeline appreciatively.

She watched Dez recede. This close, Evangeline could feel the heat coming off John’s body and she could smell his masculine scent. She tipped her head around so she could get a better look at his face.

John wanted to move out of her grasp. Evangeline felt his avoidance and hugged him tighter, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Then she whispered in his ear.

“Did you miss me?”

John was annoyed, both by the question and her unexpected flirtation. He nodded into the mirror, feeling like a fool. _She has to know what she’s doing to me_ , he thought.

When he looked down, she followed his gaze. Her eyes came to rest on his hands, and she thought of the night early on, when he’d met her at the Palace and tied a piece of yarn around her wrist. It had been his way of taking their relationship a step forward.

Evangeline remembered what John could do with those same long fingers. She felt herself responding physically to the thought of them pushing inside her, and that snapped her back to reality.

John, uncomfortable, reached for his glass, using the motion to shrug her off. She unclasped her arms from around his neck, slid onto her tall bar chair, and immediately started on her martini. And the anger she’d put aside earlier began to settle back, low in her chest.

“So, apparently you know all my secrets. That means we can get started on yours,” she challenged.

“Sure,” said John, leaning back, relieved the moment was over. “This’ll go fast. You already know everything.”

“Oh, except for when did you become a photographer? And why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“If I’d ever told anyone, I would have told you.” John’s voice was low again, and Evangeline had to lean toward John to hear him over the thumping beat of the music. “But mostly I didn’t because I didn’t think they were anything special.”

“Well I shouldn’t be surprised,” she smirked, waving her hand. “You proved it a million times: you can definitely keep a secret. You still haven’t told me.”

“Told you what???”

“How’d it happen?”

“The show, you mean?”

Evangeline had meant the photo of them, the photo of their hands. But she nodded anyway.

“Someone told me that I wasn’t a real photographer until I showed my work. So I called Lindsay Rappaport to ask how to get started, and she did all the heavy lifting. Set it all up.”

“You showed in Llanview first?” Evangeline was shocked no one had called her.

“No way. That was my only condition. It had to be somewhere besides her place.”

“So she knows Jordan Patel?”

“Yeah. Knows of her, at least. And they like you to come in, you know, shake hands and whatnot. Improves sales, I guess. So it had to be around here.”

Evangeline was silent for a moment, wondering if he’d been there the night of the fundraiser. She finished her martini in record time and ate the last olive. Her mind filled with the image of the hands, their hands, wrapped around each other, and it fueled the anger that ate at her now. _Why won’t he tell me about it?_ she fumed. _I have given him every damn opportunity._

“Which one is your favorite?” she asked.

John knew from years of watching her in court that she was leading him, and he knew exactly where. _Why is she pissed off about that? Because I didn’t get permission to take that picture?_ He hadn’t been ready to talk to her about that photograph, their photograph, the day they’d met at the gallery, and he especially wasn’t ready to talk about it now, with her three sheets to the wind. He didn’t know how to talk about that picture and what it meant to him without telling her that was the night he’d told her he loved her, for the first and only time. She hadn’t heard a word then, and there was no point in telling her now.

Stuck, John did the only thing he could think of. He changed the subject.

“Are you going to sing?” He cocked his head over to the small stage.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Why not?”

Evangeline shot a look down at Dez, then stood up on the rung of her chair and snaked her arm down behind the bar. She grabbed the first bottle within reach and poured a shot into her empty martini glass, then returned the bottle to its place. Dez glared and shook his finger at her, then laughed when she batted her eyelashes in return.

John watched her, wide-eyed. _From wine to Champagne to martinis to rum… she is going to be a hurt unit tomorrow_ , he thought.

“Why not?”

“I don’t really sing these days.”

“Why not?” John was shocked. Evangeline loved to sing.

She ran her finger absentmindedly around the rim of the glass.

“I’m in a committed relationship, and people in committed relationships don’t need to go looking for that kind of attention.”

John’s mouth fell open. Then he closed his mouth and sipped his drink, searching for the correct thing to say back. _That’s not the booze talking_ , he thought, _that’s Dennis talking_. He kept his eyes on the bottles on the back wall of the bar, knowing Evangeline was gauging his response the entire time.

“Why don’t you try telling me the real reason?”

Evangeline blew out a short breath and took another sip of her drink.

“The real reason is that I got pissed off and sang something… overly suggestive. You know, trying to make a point. And it was too much.” She put her fingers over her mouth. She’d almost said _It was too much for Dennis_.

John observed her carefully in the mirror that backed the bar. It was as though she wanted to sell him this lame story so she could believe it herself.

“So you don’t get to sing any more? That’s—”

“He said that no man would want to see the woman he loved up there, doing the things I was doing, in front of complete strangers.”

John laughed in spite of himself.

“Jesus, Evangeline, that must have been some song!”

Evangeline let herself laugh a little, too.

“It’s not like I took my clothes off, or anything.” _Not all of them, anyway_ , she thought _._

“Well, I guess I’m sorry I missed it.”

“So you’re saying he’s completely out of line.”

“No, I can see his point…” John stopped when he saw Evangeline’s eyes flash. “But being in a relationship means you trust each other, right?”

“Funny. That’s what I said,” smirked Evangeline. Her actions told him who’d won the argument. She raised her glass to the big man behind the bar and downed the rest of her drink.

They sat in silence for a few moments. John noted the change in her demeanor; he was unsure if the alcohol or his company was depressing her. It was probably him. He hadn’t known singing was a sensitive subject.

“Looks like I’ve done it again,” he joked. “I know what they call me behind my back. McGloom. Right?”

Evangeline looked straight ahead and said nothing.

“McMoody. That’s my personal favorite.”

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry I brought up the singing,” he said. “How can I make it up to you?”

Evangeline bit the inside of her lip. She looked over at John. Then, moving quickly, she put her arm on his chest and leaned into him, hard, whispering up by his ear.

“Dance with me?”

John froze.

“Wait. Don’t.” He pushed himself away from her. He hadn’t been ready for her closeness before. The second time, he overreacted.

Evangeline looked at John with an angry set to her jaw. His heart dropped. He was all too familiar with that disappointed look. She grabbed her bag, then turned unsteadily on her heel and raced away from him.

Dez, who had been watching Evangeline carefully from the moment she’d poured her own drink, wandered up to stand across the bar from John. Together, they watched her swerve off toward the ladies’ room.

“Looks like baby girl wants someone to take care of her tonight, don’t it?”

John turned and glared at the implication. Dez wasn’t fazed at all.

“She like a daughter to me, so I aks you, are you gonna do right by my baby girl? Cause if you ain’t, then I’m the guy gonna take her home.”

John had experienced his share of overprotective fathers, but Dez was something else. He’d had enough.

“Exactly what do you think is going on here?”

“Don’t git all bothered. Just making sure I can trust you.”

“Well?? Do I pass?” snapped John. Dez observed his face closely.

“You pass, Blue.” Dez tossed his towel behind him and signaled for one of the bouncers to cover the bar. “You drive here?” John shook his head no and Dez reached to pick up the phone. “I’m calling you a cab. You get your coats and I’ll get Vangie and we go out the side door.”

John nodded, then blew out a breath and reached for his wallet.

Dez stilled him with one meaty hand.

“No way, man. This part’s on me. The next part’s on you.”

###

Dez had Chantelle, one of the cocktail waitresses, go in and clear the ladies’ room. Then he went in and put his arm around Evangeline, who’d been crying. He waited until she fixed her face, then helped her put her coat on and brought her outside. She walked slowly, her head resting on Dez’s solid shoulder, and she didn’t argue when he helped her into the cab. John was already in the back and he’d asked the cabbie to turn up the heat, so it would be plenty warm for Evangeline.

“She didn’t get sick,” reported Dez.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she snapped.

Dez gave her hand a final squeeze.

“It was good to finally meet you, Blue. Call me soon, Vangie. I’m gonna worry till I hear your sweet voice.”

“I will, Mr. Dez. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby girl.”

Dez closed the door and knocked twice on the window, then held his hand up as the cab headed down to the other end of the one-way alley. The cabbie stopped as he came to the cross-street.

“Where to, folks?”

“I want a nightcap,” said Evangeline, her voice fading as she tried to stay awake. “And I know you do too, McBain.”

John shook his head, more for the cabbie to see in the rear-view mirror than for Evangeline.

“We’re taking you home. Tell me where.”

“No… not… the Carillon. Please baby… Fairmont.”

John knew there was a Fairmont Hotel, and if he remembered right, it wasn’t that far away. But even before Dez had stepped in to make sure he took Evangeline home, there was no way John would have let her have another drink. Besides, Evangeline was already snoring, and none too softly. He spoke to the cabbie.

“Is there a Carillon around here?”

“Carillon Towers. In Alexandria.”

John leaned back against the uncomfortable seat.

“That’s it,” said John. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop and John turned his attention to the woman sleeping on his shoulder. Evangeline was breathing deeply next to him, and he’d put his arm around her to keep her upright.

“Evangeline,” he said, shaking both her shoulders. “Come on. Wake up. Let’s get you upstairs. Evangeline.”

She woke with a broad smile and a light in her eyes that made him catch his breath.

“Come on. Here comes your doorman.” John had watched as the man put on his heavy red coat before coming outside. Evangeline’s eyes snapped wide open in shock.

“John!” she hissed, her eyes flashing. “Why didn’t you bring me to _my_ place??”

John’s face turned to anger and his blue eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice low.

“Because, Evangeline, I didn’t know you _had_ a place.”

The car door came open in a rush of cold air, and Alexei extended his hand to Evangeline. She glared at John, then accepted Alexei’s hand and swung her long legs out to the pavement.

John was surprised she’d leave without saying goodbye, then guessed, given the night they’d had, it was for the best. He slumped back against the seat, waiting for the door to close.

“Get your ass out of that damn cab, McBain.”

Evangeline had her back to him, but he could hear in her voice that she was furious, and could see by her posture she was still drunk. He paid the driver and scooted out to stand next to her. To his surprise, the doorman was speaking to her in some other language and she answered him in kind. _Evangeline speaks, what, Russian now?_

“Fukhaditye ot kholodna, Miss Ewangelina.” _Come in from the cold, Miss Ewangelina._

“Otsyatstviya problemi. Vyspomintye vi skavalya mushnye o noviks drug? Dobro razrishytye pritstavitsa mnye drug Ivan. Ivan Tomassovich.” _No problem. Remember what you tell me about new friend? Well I would like to introduce my friend John. John, the son of Thomas._

Alexei nodded, then leaned around Evangeline to nod peculiarly to John.

“Hello, Ivan,” smiled Alexei.

John didn’t like being on the outside of the conversation, and he especially didn’t like the way the doorman looked at him with open curiosity. It was as if the man recognized him, and John knew that wasn’t remotely possible.

Evangeline continued as they walked through the lobby.

“Ivan mon ochin’ staryj drug, Alexei. Ochin’ dorogoy drug. Sambiy luchshiy drug ya vsegda imyel.” _John is my very old friend, Alexei. A very dear friend. The best friend I ever had._

Alexei called the elevator, then leaned in to use his key and press the PH1 button as he always did for Evangeline. He stood with both hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the elevator doors to close.

“Your secret safe wiss me, Ewangelina.”

They rode the elevator in silence. Evangeline, still obviously feeling the effects of her many drinks, refused John’s help and held on to the railing inside with both hands. When the doors opened, she pulled her keys out of her bag and just as quickly dropped them. John bent to pick them up and held the elevator open for her, then chose the correct key and worked it into the lock. Evangeline stepped sidewise past John, heading straight for the console in the living room where Dennis kept the liquor. She shrugged out of her coat and dropped it to the low sofa and it slid off and hit the floor. John was surprised when she didn’t stop to pick it up, but he said nothing and closed the door behind him.

Evangeline picked up a remote control and lights went on in various places around the room.

 _I can’t believe she lives in this place_ , he thought, remembering her unique condominium in Llanview. _Not a drop of color anywhere._

She poured Bourbon into two Orrefors crystal snifters and walked back to hand one to John.

“Like a tour?”

“Sure,” he said, though the hostile flash in her eyes made him feel anything but sure.

She led him through the dining room to the kitchen, which was neither warm nor homey. It featured stark white marble countertops and frosted glass cabinet fronts. He mumbled some appreciation, then she led him back through the cream-and-beige living room, which he’d already seen. With the lights on, he could see the high ceilings, which were probably eleven feet tall. They passed into the hallway, where small lights near the baseboards illuminated the carpet. They turned by a bedroom used as an office, and John could see a wall of photos. They were all of Dennis, and, John imagined, people he’d probably see on the news channels. He followed Evangeline down the hallway to another bedroom, this one enormous, with a very large bathroom off to the side. Walking behind her past the bathroom, he saw that the room held the largest bed he’d ever seen in a private home, plus a sofa and Evangeline’s chaise in a separate sitting area near the bank of curtained windows. It was the only item in the entire place he could identify as hers.

John, still processing that Evangeline had an apartment of her own, someplace else, decided he was glad of the fact that this place belonged to Dennis Lockhart. It meant that absolutely nothing could happen between him and Evangeline in this room tonight. _Nothing can happen, and nothing will happen._

Evangeline picked up another remote, and instead of turning on the lights as he’d expected, she pressed a button that opened the wall of heavy drapes to his left.

The nighttime lights of Washington were stunning through the French doors, and John spent several long moments identifying the famous landmarks.

“You have an amazing view,” he said.

“It doesn’t suck,” she replied tersely, using terminology he would understand. “You don’t like the Bourbon?”

John looked down at the glass in his hand. He hadn’t touched his, knowing he would regret it sooner rather than later. Evangeline was sipping hers, though, and Dez’s words bubbled in his head. _Looks like baby girl wants someone to take care of her tonight, don’t it?_

“You should have something to eat if you’re going to drink that,” said John.

“I don’t want to eat,” she snapped.

Unnerved to be standing in another man’s bedroom, in the dark, with a very volatile Evangeline, John decided it was time to leave.

“Then I should go.” He looked around for a safe place to put down his glass. “I had a good time tonight. Thank you for the ballet.”

Evangeline didn’t say a word.

He put his drink down on the dresser, hoping it didn’t leave an ugly ring on the ebony wood, and turned awkwardly toward the door.

“John. When did you take that picture?”

Now it was John’s turn to say nothing.

“When!!”

“My birthday.”

“How? And why didn’t you tell me?” Evangeline’s voice was tense and insistent.

The how was exactly what he didn’t want to talk about. She’d fallen asleep in his bed, and he’d started to open up to her. He’d started to say those words she’d wanted to hear so much.

“What difference does it make now?” He was still stalling, not wanting to answer her, but it was the truth. He couldn’t see now what difference it could possibly make.

“It makes a huge damn difference to me, McBain.”

The silence between them lasted minutes. John decided that the sooner he got it over with, the sooner he’d be on his way, and the sooner she’d be asleep, which was the best thing for her. He stepped back from the window and was glad of the dark. It meant she couldn’t see his face.

“It was my birthday. I wanted to ignore it. We went to the Palace for dinner and everyone was there singing Happy Birthday and it was… excruciating.” John spoke evasively, not wanting to say Natalie’s name out loud, though she was the one who had planned the unwanted surprise party for him. There was no doubt in his mind that even years later, Evangeline still remembered, and was still annoyed by it. “And then you wrote me that note, and we ended up in… at my place, and you had that camera, taking all those pictures.”

He paused to see if she was following. _Jesus, it’s hot in here._ His explanation wasn’t coming out as coherent as it had seemed inside his head.

Evangeline, with her long years of experience interviewing clients, and more importantly, her years of experience with John and his defensive nature, knew that if she made even a sound right now, this rare window into his thoughts would slam shut.

John shook his head, still wondering how much to tell her, and just wanting this moment to be over so he could get out of there. And he wished he could sit down.

“Look, you’re not going to like this. I told you.” He rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. “I started to tell you, okay? And you were asleep. You’d fallen asleep.”

Though she whispered, Evangeline’s voice was menacing.

“You told me _what_ , McBain. What did you tell me?”

He swallowed.

“I told you I was falling—”

“You are a fucking liar.”

“What?”

John was stunned. Here he was, peeling off his skin to tell this woman the truth, and she was calling him a liar.

“You heard me. Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe this?” Evangeline’s lip was curled in anger.

John was at a loss. He watched as Evangeline shot the rest of her drink, then put the glass down precariously close to the edge of the dresser.

“What was it? Like, every night, you’d wait until I was asleep and then you’d spend all night telling me all those things I wanted to hear?”

She paced back and forth like a caged animal. John clenched his teeth and said nothing.

“Maybe I should get in bed,” she said with a harsh laugh. “Then you can tell me how you really feel!”

Even as he wanted to argue with her, and even as he got pissed at being called a liar, John felt the back of his head tingle. She’d never talked to him that way before, never been this mean, and he realized she was trying to provoke him. _But provoke me into doing what?_

“I’m sorry, Evangeline. I’m, uh, going to go.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why did you take that picture?”

John sighed. If it didn’t make any difference any more, then it didn’t matter if he told her the absolute truth. He doubted it would give her the peace she sought, but if it got him out the door sooner, all the better. He stood with his hands on his hips and looked at the floor.

“I took that picture because at that moment, I thought my life had just started over. And I wanted to be able to save that moment and share it with you.”

Evangeline pushed out the breath she’d been holding, then another shaky breath. Then she flew the short distance to John. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his face and cheeks and jawline before closing in and kissing him deeply on his full lips.

John, shocked, did his best to diffuse the situation. He reached up behind his head and started to pull her arms away. Evangeline fought him, holding him tight to her and still kissing him. He could feel her, feel all of her, through her thin satin dress. She felt and tasted delicious and he gave in with a groan, returning her kisses and showing her he wanted more.

The tingle at the back of his head enveloped his entire body and John pulled her close, bending her so she arched into him. His hands roamed over her back, wanting to feel as much of her as possible. His cock throbbed to attention as she accepted his tongue in her mouth, sucking him, and he pressed against her, wanting her to feel it.

The tingle at the back of his head became a full-on alarm, which battled for attention inside John’s churning brain. _Why didn’t you bring me to my place?_ _Nothing can happen, and nothing will happen. Provoke me into doing what??_

_Provoke me into doing this._

John reached back behind him and grabbed both of Evangeline’s wrists tight, then twisted them and pushed her away. He stood there, breathing hard and holding her wrists tight between them.

“I get it. Takes me a minute, sometimes. But if you just want out of your thing with Dennis, you’ll have to find someone besides me.”

“What???”

“You heard me. I get your M.O. at this point. You used me to get out of your thing with Gannon, and now you want me to help you with your little Dennis problem.”

“You are unbelievable! First of all, I don’t _have_ a Dennis problem. And second of all, I have _never_ used you. Never.”

“Well, Evangeline, it’s all starting to look just a little bit familiar, you know?” He released her wrists, flinging her arms away from him.

“If you mean that, then I don’t know you at all.”

“Then what is this?” he demanded. “Because whatever it is, it’s not just me here—”

John stopped himself, held himself back. Maybe it _was_ just him. Maybe, for her, it was just the booze. Evangeline took the opportunity to let him have it.

“Do you have any memory at all of the way it was between us?” Her voice was barely controlled. “What we had, that never happened to me before. I’ve never cheated on anyone before that one time with you, and for you to suggest I used you—”

“Do I remember? Are you kidding me? Do you think that’s ever happened to me before?”

This gave her pause.

“What does any of that have to do with right now, McBain?”

“I don’t know.” John’s voice was hesitant and quiet.

“Perfect,” she said, with a harsh laugh. “You are absolutely dependable. I always know right when you’re going to fold.”

“What the hell do you want from me? You’re the one with a goddamn rock on her finger!”

“How about some honesty? How about the damn truth?”

“What is it you want me to tell you?” he screamed. “How I’ve never stopped wanting you? Never let you go? How I still dream about you and then I wake up and I’m surprised when you’re not there? How I hear your voice in my head all the time, whether I want to or not? How the only thing worse than not being with you is actually getting to be with you, and then knowing you’re going to leave??”

“Oh!” she gulped, and quickly covered her mouth.

John knew that look, and from years of experience as a cop, knew he had to act quickly. He grabbed her around the middle and half-walked and half-carried her into the bathroom. He set her down and turned to look for the light switch, whereupon Evangeline promptly threw up.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Mmmmmh.”

“Okay. Just don’t move. I’m going to turn on the light.”

“No!” she cried, completely humiliated.

The light went on anyway.

“Oh, no. Noooo.”

“What’s wrong? More?”

“Ohhh…. the rug,” wailed Evangeline, one hand held shakily to her forehead and the other covering her stomach.

“Don’t worry about the rug,” he said, steadying her elbow and looking down. Where he could still see it, it was beige. “I can tell you didn’t pick that thing out.”

“Unnnnh,” moaned Evangeline.

John gently moved her over to the side, off the end of the rug. She cut her eyes down, trying to see how bad the damage was.

“That rug’s even uglier than the one in my bathroom,” he said.

A short laugh passed Evangeline’s lips, and she clamped them shut tight again, immediately.

“It’s even uglier than the rug I had at the Angel Square Hotel.”

John folded the corners to the middle, containing the mess, and pushed it carefully away toward the tub.

“Seriously, you did us a favor, taking out that rug.”

He stood up and washed his hands, watching Evangeline lean back against the countertop. Her eyes were closed and her face looked relaxed enough, but her hands were clutched tight around the marble edge of the counter.

“You all done?” he asked, watching her throat carefully.

Evangeline nodded yes, then no. John grabbed her and spun her over the low toilet, getting the lid and the seat up just in time.

“That’s right. Get it all out,” he said. He held her hair back with one hand and searched in the nearest drawer for an elastic band. “Let it go. It’s going to be okay.”

All the stuff in the drawers he could reach was obviously Dennis’, though John would be hard pressed to say what half of it was for.

“Sounds like you’re done,” he ventured, as Evangeline started coughing. He rubbed her back with his free hand a few times, then remembered himself.

“Evangeline,” he asked softly, “where’s all your stuff?”

She gulped a few times before she could croak the words out.

“Other room. Walk-in closet. The tall dresser.”

“Okay. Stay just like this. I’ll be right back.”

He helped Evangeline lean up against the counter again, then flushed the toilet and backed out of the bathroom. He hustled into the closet, riffling through four of the drawers before he found the tee shirts. There were only a few. _Guess she’s too uptown for that anymore_ , he thought. _It’s like Architectural Digest in here. Makes me want to throw up, too._ The words rattled in his head, making him feel like a schoolboy, and he knew it was just jealousy talking. Most people would probably find it elegant.

He picked out the oldest-looking tee shirt, just in case, and a hanger from the closet and hurried back to the bathroom.

“Come on,” he said, waving the hanger. “Can you do it yourself?”

John could tell she didn’t have much left: she was shaky on her feet and her head hung down, making her shoulder blades stick out. He put the shirt down on the counter and unzipped the dress. As much as he didn’t want to, he averted his eyes the best he could. Then he gave in and peeked in the mirror at the last second. He knew it would torment him if he didn’t. She was wearing a black satin bra and sheer black pantyhose and he sucked in his breath as he made out matching high-cut panties underneath.

He handed Evangeline the tee shirt and she shook her head.

“Need a washcloth. Bottom drawer.”

“Right.”

He got one for her and ran cool water over it, then waited until she’d wiped her face. She managed the tee shirt by herself, then leaned all the way down with her elbows on the counter.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Yeah. I’ve been there. Let’s just get your teeth brushed and we’ll get you to bed.”

“No. I just need to stand here a minute.”

He opened the mirrored cabinet looking for a toothbrush, and here, finally, was something he could tell belonged to Evangeline. Hers was purple. Dennis’ was white. John loaded the brush up with toothpaste and tried to hand it to Evangeline, who waved him off. He moved closer and handed her the toothbrush, and she took it from him.

“You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Evangeline had to concentrate hard, but she got the job done, and he rinsed the brush for her and left it on the sink.

“Leave your shoes here.”

She slipped out of them easily, the way she had done earlier at the ballet.

“Stockings too.”

Evangeline was really starting to shake, but she reached up under her tee shirt and peeled the waistband down. She got the pantyhose to the middle of her thighs before she started to lose her balance, and John helped her the rest of the way, pulling them off one leg at a time.

He put his arm around her back and walked her into the bedroom, turning out lights as he went. He pulled back the heavy duvet and helped her underneath, then pulled the covers back up.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” he said.

Evangeline’s eyes stayed closed, but she reached for him.

“John, wait.” She stopped speaking, waiting until she heard him step back to the edge of the bed. “What happened to Caitlin’s ring?”

The question floored him. No one had ever asked him that, not even his own family.

“She never took it off,” he answered quietly.

“What do you mean she—Oh. My God, John, I’m sorry. I should have known that.”

John watched Evangeline’s face in the near-darkness. She might be bombed, but that didn’t automatically mean she couldn’t answer questions.

“Why are you interested?”

“I’m a girl.” Evangeline burped, and was still too far gone to care. “We wanna know the details about stuff like that.”

“You mean was it a huge ring?”

“Yeah.” Evangeline rolled over, hugging her pillow underneath her upset stomach.

“No. It was under half a carat. An Emerald. With baguette diamonds down the sides.”

“Why an Emerald?”

“Because it was the color of her eyes.”

“It’s perfect, John. She loves it.”

He nodded, barely breathing. He’d never told that to anyone before, and he hadn’t expected her to just… understand.

Then, realizing Evangeline was going to drift off, he headed to the kitchen for the water she clearly needed. He found a plastic bottle in the refrigerator and went back to the bedroom, both hoping and not hoping Evangeline was asleep.

“Here. Sit up a little. You need this.”

She drank about half of the water and collapsed back down on her pillow. John put the bottle on the night stand and turned to leave.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Your job. Did you call them or did they call you?”

John was mystified. _Why the hell is she worrying about that?_

“What difference does it make?”

“I’m just curious.”

“They called me.”

“Who? Who called?”

John put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

“Guy named Larry Stone. Okay?”

Evangeline swallowed, hard, and choked back hot tears. Her Uncle Clay’s concerned voice rang in her ears. _Be careful with this choice, Evangeline. It is the difference between a happy life, and an unhappy one._ She thought of the somber expression he’d had on his face as he’d said it, and she knew what he had done. And John, obviously, had no idea.

John pulled the covers back up over her and spoke authoritatively.

“Last question. Make it a good one.”

Even sick as she was, Evangeline loved a challenge. And her blood-alcohol content made it a certainty that she wouldn’t back down.

“Do you really still think about me?”

John froze for a moment, then stepped back, and away.

“Try to sleep, Evangeline.”

Had she been sober, she’d have heard the real answer in his voice.

###

John sat on the low, cream-colored couch in the living room. He’d taken the liberty of using the remote control to open the thick drapes in here, too, and he’d gotten himself a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Sitting down as he was, though, he couldn’t see the view.

He sat wedged into the corner of the couch until early morning, staying to make sure Evangeline was all right. When the sky turned from black to purplish-blue he rose and threw away his empty bottle, then picked up his coat and went to the doorway of the bedroom to check on her one last time. She hadn’t moved much, but she was breathing softly and steadily, and she looked absolutely beautiful to him.

He didn’t linger. He knew he needed to leave before the other residents of the building were up and about. John walked out without saying goodbye and without looking back. He locked the door behind him, then rode the elevator down 21 floors.

He was surprised to see Alexei in the foyer, waiting for the elevator doors to open.

“You need a cab?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Alexei punched numbers quickly into the desk phone, then hung up.

“Two minutes max.”

John nodded his thanks and headed for the glass doors. Alexei spoke softly behind him.

“I stay. I trade shifts, for Ewangelina.”

John turned, wondering why the man would do that. Had Evangeline told him something? Then he shook his head. The moment John passed through those doors, the events of last night would mean absolutely nothing.

The cab pulled up under the awning outside, and John turned to leave.

“Your secret safe wiss me, Ivan Tomassovich.”

John stopped, one hand on the door, ready to argue. Then he just nodded. Even though there was no secret to keep, he could see how, to outsiders, his presence there overnight made it look like there was. Then he pushed through the doors and got in the back of the cab, heading across town to his car, which was still parked in the garage at Evangeline’s office.

He was angry at the way the night had turned out and worried about Evangeline at the same time, but it had been a bad idea from the beginning. _Too much to hope for, that we could be in each other’s lives._ John found himself missing Chicago and the perspective it had afforded him. One thing was clear. He was going to have to keep his distance from now on.


	13. Batestown

John woke up, face-down on the couch, to Sandy panting insistent dog-breaths into his face. As he had a very dry mouth and a huge headache, his canine alarm clock didn’t improve his mood. He’d been having more than the usual trouble getting to sleep since last weekend and his non-date with Evangeline. So he’d had a few beers last night, and then several fingers of whiskey, trying to speed things along. And as a result, waking up was taking him longer than usual, too.

He rolled over onto his back, not ready to get vertical just yet. Sandy paced back and forth between the glass coffee table and the couch, sniffing and yapping and barking and smacking John with her tail. John pressed both hands to his eyes.

“Oh, man. You gotta stop that. You’re killing me here.”

John checked his watch. It was after 9 a.m., but since it was Saturday, he’d been hoping to sleep longer than this. Sandy positioned herself opposite John’s face again, and breathed some more. She obviously wanted to go out. Recently, John had made a habit of latching the dog door he’d installed to the back yard because they’d been having problems with raccoons in the neighborhood.

“All right. Hold on,” he groaned.

He pushed himself off the couch and pulled down the legs of his boxer briefs as he walked slowly to the back door. Sandy ran the other way to the front door and turned around in excited circles, her doggy toenails skittering on the slate floor. John shook his head and snapped his fingers.

“Outside. Back yard. Let’s go.”

Sandy sat down. Her wagging tail whacked a drumbeat against the hollow-core front door. John, wanting to pee and get some water and hit the shower and most of all, make that thumping noise stop, snapped his fingers again, loud. He opened the door.

“Last chance. Out.”

Sandy raced straight through the house, out through the door and into the back yard. John closed the door behind her and stepped into the kitchen for a drink of water straight from the faucet, then headed for the stairs and the master bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, he came downstairs dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He went to the back door and let Sandy back in, then pointed to her bed.

She ran straight to the front door and barked again over and over. When John just stood there with his hands on his hips, she came back and gave herself a big shake before settling down in her corner. John leaned down to give her some tummy pets, then straightened up.

“I’ll be back later. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Sandy never really got into trouble, but John reckoned that’s what you were supposed to say to your dog. Sandy put her head on her paws and got ready to watch him leave. He grabbed his camera bag, his sunglasses and his keys from the table in the foyer and walked slowly to the garage. Despite the shower and the Advil, his head still hurt. He drew the door open and punched the button to raise the garage door, and the ensuing noise turned the hurt back into a throbbing, pounding headache.

Between the pain and the noise, he almost missed her car. It was parked right behind his, blocking the driveway.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _No wonder Sandy was barking so much._

Evangeline, who’d been startled when the door opened, got out of her car. She stood there nervously, not sure what to do with her hands.

John looked at the oil-spotted garage floor for a few seconds, then put his camera bag on the hood of the car. Then he put on his sunglasses and jammed his fingertips in his pockets before stepping out onto the driveway.

“How’d you find me?” His voice was not welcoming.

Evangeline shielded her eyes from the sun so she could look at him. As for finding him, it hadn’t been easy. She’d tried by herself for a day and gotten nowhere, so she’d hired a PI and given him John’s photograph and the little else she had, which wasn’t much. She knew nothing beyond his place of employment, cell phone number, and the make and model of his car: it was a classic GTO convertible with base permits, tag numbers unknown.

Ultimately, the car had been the key. Quantico itself was a fortress, but two coffee shops stood sentry on opposite sides of the main road in. Her PI had sat with a paper cup and a newspaper, watching the traffic for most of three days before he’d spotted the car. When the tag search returned a Jersey address, he’d come back and followed John home the fifth night in the rain. It had cost her a small fortune, and worse, taken an entire week to find him.

“The car,” she said.

“Figures.” John looked disgusted. It would trip all kinds of alarms if anyone unauthorized went poking around in his service records. His cell phone was still billed to his Llanview address; he paid it online. The car was registered to his mom’s address in Atlantic City, and Occoquan, where he lived now, was a very small community, well off the beaten path. He’d have known if someone had been snooping around. It all meant she’d had him followed.

Evangeline saw the expression on his face and her heart sank. _Why don’t you understand? You left me no choice_ , she wanted to scream.

“John, you said you were going to answer your phone.”

“Yeah. I did say that.”

“So why didn’t you—”

“Evangeline. Why are you here?” he bit out the words, and Evangeline nodded. She’d known those words were coming. She looked him right in the eye.

“I’m here to apologize.”

John was shocked to hear her say it so openly, so directly. The Evangeline he knew had never found it easy to make apologies. He looked more carefully and was further surprised to see she was afraid. The Evangeline he knew was hardly ever afraid.

“Well,” he said, blowing out a breath, “you don’t have to do that.” He put his hands on his hips and waited, wishing she would just go.

 _Please_ , she said with her eyes.

“John, I need… I want to… explain,” she said grimacing a little and putting her hand on her forehead. _I need you in my life, John. Just please don’t make me say it out loud._ “Please.”

“Are you all right?” he asked. He’d been watching her carefully. _She can’t still be sick?_ “You had a rough time that night.”

Evangeline laughed at herself.

“I had a hell of a headache when I woke up. But my, uh, guardian angel left me some Tylenol on the night stand. Didn’t even have to get out of bed.”

They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

“Can I come in? Can we talk?” she asked.

“No.”

He could see the hurt expression on Evangeline’s face, but there was no way he was up for a repeat of last weekend.

Evangeline decided the _no_ was for the part about coming in the house, and not about the talking.

“John. I blew it. Completely. It’s all on me, and there is no excuse for the things I said to you. But before last weekend, we were friends, and if I’ve ruined that, I will never forgive myself.”

John wiped his face with his hand. It wasn’t the things she said to him that were the problem as much as it was the things she did to him.

“It’s fine. I’m good. I’m glad you’re okay. And I, uh, have to get going.”

Evangeline sighed.

“Can you tell me we’re still friends?”

“Friends. We’re friends.” The correct words came out, but his voice was anything but convincing. Evangeline crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side. John shook his head, frustrated, and tried again, more softly. “Sure. We’ll always be friends.”

Evangeline relaxed a little. She stepped back, looking like she was about to leave, then came forward again.

“John? Just one more thing.” Evangeline had a mischievous gleam in her eyes and a tiny grin on her face.

“What?”

“Prove it.”

He dropped his head and snorted. This woman never ran out of fight, and when she wasn’t annoying him with it, he admired her for it. He put his hands in his back pockets.

“How?”

“Let me go with you today. Wherever you want. I know I can do this right. Let me try one more time.”

John didn’t try to hide his doubtful expression. He stood there searching her face and feeling like an idiot, wondering what was the right thing to do. Then he caught himself and looked off into the distance, remembering he wasn’t supposed to care about the right thing to do any more.

He stepped over to her, right into her space. Evangeline held her breath. John hesitated a second more, weighing right versus wrong one more time, before sticking out his right hand.

“J.T. McBain. Pleased to meet you.”

She puffed out a shaky breath before accepting his handshake.

“Evangeline Williamson,” she replied, visibly relieved. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

He let go of her hand immediately.

“Give me your keys.”

She swallowed and reached into her pocket and handed them over, then stood to the side of the driveway while he re-parked her car on the far right.

“Come on,” he said, handing her back her keys. Evangeline got in his car quickly, before he changed his mind. John backed the GTO out of the garage and headed south.

“It’s freezing,” she complained.

John shrugged.

“If I was alone, I’d take the top down.”

“John, it’s still winter out there!”

“Exactly,” he replied.

###

When he didn’t say another word for twenty minutes Evangeline knew he was testing her. She laughed inside, wondering if he knew how comfortable she’d gotten with his silences during the year they’d dated. _People can say a lot without talking, McBain, can’t they?_ she smirked. _Maybe what you’re saying is that it’s not so easy for you, either._

Evangeline sat back and watched the scenery out the window. She’d spent the week thinking it through logically and coming to terms with her own behavior the night of the ballet. It was very simple. Like Nora had said, it wasn’t boring with John. The hurt he’d caused her years ago had had plenty of time to heal, and Evangeline was left with an intense sexual attraction that had never really gone away. That, of course, made her feel guilty, because she was engaged to Dennis. So she’d let herself drink, a lot, trying to ignore the attraction and ease her guilt, and that had been the wrong thing to do. It had decreased her inhibitions and enabled her to act on feelings that had long ago been folded neatly and put away in the bottom drawer of her heart.

Therefore, she’d decided logically, she wouldn’t drink. If she didn’t drink, those feelings would stay packed away, just as they always had before. And then they could be friends.

 _Simple_ , thought Evangeline. _Friends._ _It doesn’t have to be complicated._

John turned the car off the highway and, after a bit, through the east gate of Prince William Forest Park. Their destination wasn’t too far away from Occoquan as the crow flew, but it took time to get there because it was well inside the park, and because the tail end of the access road was barely paved. John eased the GTO carefully along the left side of the road, the better side, knowing no one else would be coming the other direction.

John parked the car at the end of the road and got out. Evangeline peered through the window, trying to figure out where they were. There were some ramshackle, abandoned wooden buildings about 100 feet away. The forest, which at one time had been cleared for these wooden buildings, had long since come back. Younger trees and large bushes competed for space among the old-growth trees. She got out of the car and stretched.

“You’re not dressed for this,” he said, looking her over.

Evangeline was wearing a silvery turtleneck sweater and a thin powder-blue parka vest with a furry collar over jeans, which would keep her warm enough, but her shoes had heels. She looked back at John, wondering how he could function in just a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. It was really cold out.

“Don’t pick anything up. And be careful where you walk. There’s vines and broken glass and nails and your clogs are going to get muddy.”

“They’re mules.”

“Mules?”

“Muules,” she said, pronouncing it slowly. “Clogs have a lower heel.”

“Well you should have worn clogs, then,” he groused.

“For a guy who doesn’t believe in the rules, you sure do have a lot of them.”

John put his hands on his hips, annoyed that she was arguing with him.

“I just don’t want to have to take you to get a tetanus shot.”

“I’ll be fine.”

John started taking his cameras out of the bag and lined them up on the hood of the car.

“What is this place?” asked Evangeline, zipping her vest closed.

“This is Batestown,” he replied. “It’s been abandoned since World War II.”

“Why?”

“It was founded by freed slaves after the Civil War. Then a mine opened up just west of here, and the town that grew up around it and this one became this integrated community. The mine hired without regard to race. And this is all around the turn of the century.” John snapped a large lens into the body of the camera, then looked through, checking the settings. “Then later on, probably because it was all working perfectly, the Government decided this area would make a great place for the OSS to hide during the war, and everyone who lived here was resettled.”

“Resettled,” repeated Evangeline.

“Yeah. As in, carried kicking and screaming from their homes.”

Evangeline nodded but said nothing. _Why is he interested in this?_ she wondered. She circled around the car, watching him from a distance.

“John, why here? Why this place, these buildings?”

He knew the answer but he’d never said it out loud before, and he knew it would sound stupid. He busied himself with a polarizer for the lens while he spoke.

“Because when I look at these buildings, I can see the people who lived here.”

“See-them-see-them? Like ghosts?”

John shook his head.

“Not ghosts. But I think some places capture the spirit of the people who live there.”

“Spirit sounds like a ghost.”

“Then not spirit. Aura, maybe? Or is that too new-age?” John laughed at himself.

Finished with the camera, he grabbed it and walked toward the closest building. Evangeline followed several steps behind, picking her way and aiming for the dirt that looked the driest.

He crouched down and snapped off several shots of the building. It was a house with only parts of the roof still intact. There were gaps between the planks that formed the exterior walls. Where it wasn’t covered with green moss and lichen, the rough-hewn wood still looked wet from the past days’ rain.

It didn’t look like much to Evangeline, but she knew John would be able to see things in the dilapidated structure that she couldn’t.

“So what aura does this place have?” Evangeline asked, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

John looked back at her. He wasn’t used to answering questions while he worked. Then he looked back at the house.

“Safety. People were safe here. Security.” He looked over to the next building, which still had a front door and its chimney intact. “Families. So, happiness, maybe.”

Listening to his words, Evangeline was able to envision children playing tag, running around to the back of this house, while their mother brought their father a glass of cool cider to drink on the porch.

“Love?” she asked.

John brought the camera down from his eye and brought his head around to look at Evangeline questioningly.

“Yeah. I guess.” Then he turned his back and focused the next shot. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

Evangeline nodded, surmising that she was crowding John, and moved to step away. She was surprised when he continued their conversation.

“Is it hard for you to be here?” he asked quietly.

“No… why would it be?”

John paused, trying carefully to find the right words.

“Because the people that lived here were…”

“Slaves.” she finished for him, matter-of-factly. “No. Why?”

John shook his head, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. _Been wishing that a lot lately_ , he thought.

“I guess because the idea’s hard for me. And I’d guess it’d be even harder for you,” he said.

Again, Evangeline had the thought that John was an impostor. Before, whenever she’d tried to talk about their differences, he’d brushed her off. Today, he was bringing it up on his own. _He’s the same, but so different. Why couldn’t he be open like this when we were together?_ she wondered. The feeling brought her low. She shook her head, annoyed. But she wanted to keep him talking anyway.

“Why is it hard for you?” she asked. “You had nothing to do with it. Your family’s been here what, 50, 60 years?”

“Just barely,” he said, focusing for another photo. “But when the McBains came here, they came here because they wanted to.”

“And you feel bad because I can’t say the same?”

“Something like that.”

Evangeline walked behind John, closer to the next building.

“Well, the people who lived in these homes were free, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So _focus_ on that,” she smiled.

The smile she got in return took her breath away.

After that, Evangeline gave John plenty of room, watching him surreptitiously as he worked. She wanted to ask a hundred questions about the light meter and what the different lenses were for and what he saw through the camera and how he knew exactly when to click the shutter. But she kept herself quiet, not wanting spoil the peace she felt in the wake of John’s smile.

She skirted the mud puddles left by the recently-overflowed creek and wandered over to the buildings away from John.

His questions about her ancestry sent her spiraling into a memory, one she hadn’t thought of in a very long time. She had visited colonial Williamsburg as a schoolgirl, on a class trip. It had been interesting as long as you could think about it academically. At Williamsburg, modern African-Americans dressed in costumes and served as interpreters, side-by-side with their Caucasian neighbors. Even as a fourteen-year-old, Evangeline had been painfully aware of the staging, aware that it hadn’t really been shiny and friendly the way it looked now, for the paying visitors. Then later in the day, she’d squirmed inside, feeling the eyes of her classmates on her as they toured the slave quarters. As a teenager, she’d been self-conscious and embarrassed to be different. What she’d learned at Williamsburg that day was if you thought with your heart instead of your head, if you let yourself feel instead of think, it really hurt.

It was hard for Evangeline to remember she’d ever been that defenseless. Twenty years later, she could separate the feelings in her heart from the thoughts in her head. She was proud of her ability to do that; she’d realized early that her heart made her vulnerable and taken steps to correct it.

Today, she simply wanted to know about the former slaves who had founded this tiny community, and what their day-to-day lives had been like. Unlike Williamsburg, this was the real thing.

She climbed three rickety steps to get a closer look inside one of the homes, wondering if John was going to give her a hard time. He didn’t notice; he was crouched down, too busy framing a shot to be worrying about her.

From her elevated position, Evangeline thought she could see his brain working. Watching him concentrate, it hit her that what she was doing here, today with John, was the most dangerous thing she had ever done. It wasn’t what she’d come here for, but she was watching a passionate man do something he loved to do, and it was erotic to her. And this time, she didn’t have the excuse of booze to hide behind.

Evangeline had spent the week convincing herself that she’d come on to John due to a combination of Dennis’ absence, John’s new openness and her excessive drinking.

But today, she hadn’t been drinking. And those feelings were still happening.

She watched as John laid down on his stomach on a fallen tree trunk, shooting the house from a low angle. He held the camera up to his eye and his shirt rode up. Evangeline could see the sway of his back and the curve of his ass through his jeans as he stretched himself long to get the shot. She stepped to the edge of the porch automatically, putting her hands on the rough-hewn railing to get a better view.

 _I still care about him. I’m always going to care about him,_ she thought. _This is normal._ _Maybe the point is not to turn it off or ignore it._

Watching him, she smiled to herself and leaned against the post.

John was moving as soon as he heard Evangeline scream. He dumped his camera on a tree stump and raced over to her.

She had fallen three feet from the porch to the soft, wet earth below. John got on his knees and slid in beside her, checking her eyes and surreptitiously feeling her pulse, which was racing. For a moment, she didn’t know how she’d ended up on her back in the mud.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did you land on anything? Can you move everything? You feel dizzy?”

She nodded and shook her head in turn. He knew she was okay when she waved him off and sat up. John stood up and extended his hand.

“Come on. You’re lucky you landed in the mud.”

They both surveyed the damage. Mud was all over her jeans and her arms where she’d landed, and, she surmised, her back.

“No, McBain, I would not call this _lucky_.”

“Yeah, maybe not. You’ve got it in your hair, too.”

“Oh, noooo.”

She’d just washed her hair that morning and spent forever straightening it. She’d figured John would try to keep her at arm’s length and she needed all the extra confidence she could muster.

Evangeline twisted around, trying to see how far the mud went up her side and back, and trying to ignore the freezing cold that had seeped through her jeans and was now in contact with her skin. John stepped over and collected her shoes, which had flown off when she fell.

“So come on.” John took her elbow gently and walked her to the passenger side of the car. “Get those things off and we’ll get out of here.”

“Excuse me?” She froze and sent an icy stare John’s way. John put his hands on his hips and made sure his smile didn’t turn into a laugh.

“Evangeline, you’re covered in mud. Get those off and we’ll go back to my place and get you cleaned up.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “What is it, your precious car?” She pointed to the GTO. “This thing’s a relic! A little dirt isn’t going to make any difference!”

He went to the trunk and rummaged around, then came back with an old black zip-up sweatshirt and a bottle of water.

“As a matter of fact, this car is very important to me.” He opened the door and tossed the sweatshirt on the passenger seat. Then he put the water bottle carefully on the vinyl top of the car and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s not just the mud. You’re soaking wet.”

She looked across at him, annoyed and dubious.

“Evangeline, there’s no one here but us. Come on. I’m turning around.”

 _Besides, I’ve seen it before._ _All of it. In fact, I’m seeing it right now_ , he thought, grinning in response to the images filling his head.

“Well, then you better drop trou, McBain, because you have mud all over your ass, too.”

John looked back at Evangeline, then down. He had a long, red-orange streak up the back of one thigh, and all over the bottom of his polo shirt.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that? I seem to remember telling you to be careful.”

Shaking his head, he unlaced his boots and pulled open the button of his jeans, taking them off one leg at a time, stepping carefully back into his boots after each leg. Then he turned the jeans inside out and threw them into the open trunk. Finally, he turned back to face her and whipped off his shirt. Evangeline looked at him, surprised. John turned the shirt inside out and tossed it on the roof of the car, too. The cold air felt good, really good, on his bare skin, but he wasn’t enjoying having to stand around naked in front of his ex-girlfriend. She hadn’t seen him since his car accident, since the fire. His arms weren’t too bad, but his back was always going to be scarred from the burns. He heard the echo of his mother’s voice, always admonishing him to bring a jacket.

“What? You seen it before. Your turn.”

Evangeline sighed and shook her head, then waited until he walked off past the trunk of the car. He began whistling, annoyingly, as she worked quickly, pulling off her puffy vest and the turtleneck that had mud up both long arms. She tried not to think about his muscular arms, his broad shoulders, his tattoos, the ones that had always turned her on. She especially didn’t think about the thin line of hair that trailed down into the waistband of his boxer briefs, or the way his face looked as he watched her watching him.

She unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them off. She’d been warm enough a minute ago, but now, clad only in a matching turquoise lace bra and panties, Evangeline was painfully aware that just because the calendar said it was spring, the weather didn’t necessarily have to agree.

“I’m going to freeze,” she grumbled, watching to make sure he wasn’t going to turn around.

Evangeline leaned over to the passenger seat and grabbed the sweatshirt, slipping her arms inside and making sure her hair didn’t get mud everywhere as she went to zip it up.

“John, the zipper is broken.”

“Really?” He came over to investigate, and she wrapped the sides of the sweatshirt tightly around her. “Relax.” He crouched down, and tried to get the metal teeth to mate without success. Evangeline was shivering now, so he decided not to waste time. “Look. Don’t worry. Let’s just get your hair taken care of and then I can fix it. Bend over.”

Evangeline blew out a breath and rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of her predicament, but was too cold to argue. She leaned way over, holding the sweatshirt closed. John pulled the band from the bottom of her braid and carefully separated the strands. Then he opened the bottle of water and poured it over the muddy side of her hair, rinsing the mud away and rubbing his fingers through the ends. When all the water was gone, he squeezed the ends as dry as he could, then reached back for his polo shirt and carefully used the clean part to dry her hair as best he could.

“All done,” said John. Evangeline straightened up, holding the sweatshirt together with one hand and combing her fingers through the back of her hair with the other. John did not for a moment let himself think about what he’d just been doing.

He turned carefully away from her and went to the trunk of the car. He came back carrying a roll of clear tape. John looked directly at Evangeline’s chest, then tore off a piece of tape the length of the zipper, then tossed the roll into the passenger seat and turned back to Evangeline.

“Hold it together.”

She bit her lip and shook her head, knowing what he was about to do. John didn’t wait for the argument that was coming, and pressed the tape against both sides of the zipper, running his hand firmly from her collarbone down between her breasts to her flat stomach.

“I got it,” she said softly, backing up a step.

He put his hands up and looked at the sky, then picked up Evangeline’s clothes and the tape and stomped off to put it all in the trunk. He collected his camera gear on the second trip and put that in the trunk, too.

“Why do you have packing tape in your car, anyway?” she griped, pressing at the tape to make sure it stayed stuck.

“Crime scene kit, remember? Why? You want to glove up?”

He slammed the trunk shut in irritation and walked around to the driver’s side. Evangeline had her hands jammed in her pockets, pulling the sweatshirt bottom further down and looking around behind her as though she’d forgotten something.

“You feel like enjoying the scenery some more, or what?”

Evangeline rolled her eyes again and slid into the passenger seat, swinging her legs inside. She pulled off her socks because they were wet and felt disgusting, and dropped them to the floor of the car.

John put the key in the ignition then sat perfectly still, both hands on the wheel, waiting for Evangeline to slam her door. She pulled it shut, then crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, wondering why he wasn’t taking them out of there.

“Buckle up,” he said quietly.

Evangeline exhaled loudly and reached for her seat belt.

John started the car and made a U-turn, driving them out the way they’d come in. Out of the corner of his eye, John watched Evangeline pull at the ribbing of the sweatshirt, making sure it was as far down as it could go under the seat belt. Finally, she settled back, wishing the seat weren’t so cold under her bare thighs. She had goosebumps up and down both long legs.

They drove in silence, Evangeline trying to keep her shoulders down and act nonchalant, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. All her big talk from before about it being simple being friends had gone out the window. She felt very much out of her depth, not just because she’d done it again and John had snapped into rescue-mode, again, but because it was like they were together again and it was so comfortable.

John was so calm. She watched the confident way he drove the GTO, how comfortable he was in his own skin, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the back of the bench seat, and his eyes solely on the road. Evangeline wondered why the situation wasn’t getting to him as much as it was getting to her.

Shaking her head, she fussed at her face, wiping a finger under each eye to make sure there were no dirt smudges. She felt John’s eyes on her and looked at him sheepishly, then sat back, feeling foolish. John laughed at her expression.

“Don’t worry. You still look perfect.”

Evangeline smirked and took the opening.

“What’s the big deal about this car, anyway, McBain?”

“It’s the first thing my father ever bought with his own money, after Viet Nam. After he started on the job in AC.”

Evangeline looked over at John, still not seeing the point. He waited until he’d made a careful left turn back to the main road out of the park.

“And a couple years later, I was conceived in the back seat.”

Evangeline whipped her head back to the right, staring out the window intently, as though the trees had all suddenly sprouted hot pink leaves. _Thanks for the mental image, there, John_ , she thought.

Evangeline flashed back to a time years ago, when they’d been in love. The first time she’d handed him the keys and let him drive her convertible, he’d pulled up to a red light and looked her up and down, making her warm from her center out.

John’s voice was always husky, but then it was even deeper, rougher, underscoring the desire in his blue eyes as he leaned toward her.

_“I want to taste you.”_

She’d leaned over and tangled her hand in his hair, kissing him deeply until the light had changed and cars waiting behind them had honked in annoyance.

Now, in his car, driving back toward his small house, she sat back against the seat and let her head roll against the door frame, following the curve of the road. The adrenaline-fueled excitement from falling off the porch was gone, replaced by an allover wariness, one that left her body tingling and her thoughts going places that, until recently, hadn’t been dangerous at all.

 _It was hard enough to keep from thinking about him naked when we both had all our clothes on_ , she thought. Then she began mentally reciting the Constitution, which she’d memorized years ago, the way she did in court when she had to keep a neutral expression on her face. _We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare…_

_“I want to taste you,” she heard John say in her head._

_Evangeline turned, angling her body toward him, and opening her knees wide. She leaned back against the corner made by the seat and the door. She could tell he’d expected her to lean across to receive his kiss and he watched her mutely, waiting._

_She reached down, rolling her hips and playing with her love button for a moment before dipping her finger into her center to feel her own warmth and readiness. John looked on, his lips parted in disbelieving desire. Evangeline trusted him, but she’d never been this bold, never touched herself in front of any man, not even him, and it made her even more excited. It was impossible to breathe normally._

_Her eyes not leaving his, she trailed her fingers back to her love button, then up and across to him, and touched her fingers to his lips. His mouth opened a bit wider and he took her fingers in, kissing and sucking the taste of her, making his need for her explode._

_Evangeline let her hand drop to her side and looked deep into John’s eyes._

_He threw himself across the bench seat of the car, pinning her against the door with an uncontrolled kiss, one meant to possess and claim. She bent under him, his mouth covering hers, his hand parting her legs and feeling the wetness there for himself. His fingers pushed inside and the exquisite roughness of his touch made her cry out through the kiss. He worked her with one hand and tugged at the zipper of her black sweatshirt with the other, panting and breathing into her open mouth, needing to see the chocolate points of her nipples and the vulnerable areas of her neck._

_When he pulled his fingers out and slid back against the seat to unbutton his pants, she moaned and rolled to her side, then onto her stomach, pulling her knees up a bit. It was a big American car, but it still didn’t give them a lot of room. He worked his jeans down around his knees and stroked his cock for a moment, taking pleasure in his own hardness as he looked at her beautiful body, her submission and her need for him above all else in this moment._

_“Oh, no,” he said, stroking the dimples above her ass with one large hand. “You turn back over.” He put the other hand on her hip and pulled her around, sliding himself under her and lifting her into position with both hands. “This way you can’t pretend it’s not me,” he growled, pushing himself up into her tightness and pulling her down at the same time, watching her face and breathing deliberately._

_He reached both hands around to her ass, spreading her even wider, until, gasping, she thought he was going to touch her_ there _. He held her to him, making sure they were as joined as any two people could get. With him fully inside her, she tilted her hips and squeezed him, trying to touch him in a way no other woman could._

_“Stop it,” he growled, his face angry and beautiful. “That ain’t what this is about.”_

_He put his left hand to her hip and the other hand to the back of her neck, gripping a handful of her hair, and began thrusting up and pulling her down as hard as he could. He took her the way he wanted, going at his pace. Evangeline’s body felt afire from the intensity of John’s movements, and from amazement at the way he commanded her. She struggled to get control of herself and breathe: it was all happening so fast. She closed her eyes._

_“You look at me,” he grunted. “You look at my face and you don’t take your eyes off me and you know it’s me inside you.”_

_His thrusts came even harder now, his hand tightening on her hip and moving her against him exactly the way he wanted. He’d never been this rough with her and though it was a good kind of hurt, it hurt. Evangeline moaned loudly with each thrust._

_“That’s right,” he said, over her moans._

_He pulled her head so her face was jammed up to his and he would not let her pull back. All she could see was his eyes, they were that close._

_“You look at me and you feel this—” he thrust “—and you feel me. You feel that?”_

_Evangeline gasped and nodded as he ground his face against hers. She could tell he was almost there and it was hard for him to talk and fuck._

_He flipped them down, narrowly missing the steering wheel and flattening her back against the springy seat bottom, still holding her head to his and clawing at her hip. His last thrusts were as hard and fierce as any she’d ever felt, and she came in an uncontrolled wave that took her completely by surprise. All the muscles between her belly button and her knees locked up hard, save for the ones that tightened and released involuntarily around John’s thick shaft._

_He didn’t even stop to feel it, just rode right over her and let go, saying it out loud in case she didn’t get it on her own from feeling him shoot inside her._

_“No matter what you do, no matter who you’re with, from now on, you’re going to feel me inside. You’re mine.”_

“Evangeline?? Evangeline!” John had one hand on the wheel and the other hand was touching her shoulder, shaking her hard. He spoke slowly. “Are… you… okay?”

He’d obviously asked her this already, several times.

“No, I’m fine.”

John looked her over.

“You were breathing funny.”

“I’m fine,” she replied carefully.

“You sure?” Her face looked warm and her eyes were glassy.

“I’m just… thirsty,” she said, offering the first excuse that came to mind.

“I can find a drive-through. Or I can stop someplace.”

“No!!” Evangeline answered too quickly and too loud. She knew what would happen if he stopped the car, exactly what she’d go and do.

John reached over again and put his hand to her forehead. Evangeline recoiled from his touch, and he looked hurt, then looked back out at the highway.

“You’re warm, but you don’t have a fever,” he said, as though she’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

 _Oh yes I do_ , she thought, feeling terrible that she’d backed away from him. _This is why they say you can’t stay friends_ , she thought, wishing she could just tell him why she’d done that, wishing she hadn’t hurt him, wishing to hell she didn’t still want him. _I am always going to want him._ Her hands gripped the rolled edge of the seat next to her knees, which she pressed tightly together.

John looked her over, wondering why all of a sudden it was so hard for them to communicate again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stop? There’s a Wal-Mart a couple exits up.”

Evangeline was grateful for the distraction.

“You want to go shopping???”

John returned her gaze sheepishly.

“I was thinking I could run in and get you some sweats or something.”

“You’d walk in there in your undershorts.”

Actually, John had been planning to put his muddy jeans back on, but he got a charge out of knowing that she was thinking of him almost naked.

“Why not?”

“You’ll get arrested for sure,” she said. _He still acts like he carries a badge_ , she thought. “I think I’ll pass. I’m a good lawyer, but I’m not that good of a lawyer.”

“Your call, Counselor.”


	14. Developer

John pushed the door open wide and let Evangeline pass by.

She walked in through the door into some kind of narrow workroom, then through the next door into his living room.

Sandy bounded from her place near the back door to greet them enthusiastically. Evangeline backed up to the wall behind her while John reached down to give skritches and make introductions.

“Sandy, this is Evangeline.”

Evangeline jumped as Sandy’s cold nose touched her bare thigh, then pulled one hand from behind her to give a quick pat, hoping the animal would back off. Evangeline’s legs got thumped by Sandy’s tail as the dog turned to get more attention from John. He moved between them so Evangeline wouldn’t get thumped.

“You afraid of dogs?” he asked. Evangeline was still on her tiptoes against the wall.

“No, just surprised, that’s all,” she replied. “You said Sandy? As in, short, blonde Sandy?”

“Yeah. See, I told you. Not a redhead.”

“What a relief,” smirked Evangeline, processing the new information. _If there’s no girlfriend, then…. Then you definitely shouldn’t be here, Evangeline Williamson._

“So come on in,” he said, moving Sandy gently away with his knee.

“Your place, it’s—” she stalled. “Are you sure this is your place?”

John put his camera gear down and looked around.

They’d offered him the usual corporate apartment, a soulless one similar to the ones he’d stayed in last time he’d taught at the Academy, and he’d politely declined. He knew he’d need a house, this time… some place where he could have a dog and set up a darkroom and work late into the night, whenever he felt like it. He’d found this one furnished, and though it was more than he’d liked spending on rent, it met all his other criteria.

“More rooms than you expected?” he laughed. Evangeline nodded. “Maybe you better sit down. You know, take it slow. I mean, it has a real kitchen, and an upstairs even.”

“You’re right. I might need some time to get used to that,” she joked back. Then she shivered. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I was just about to turn the heat on,” he said. He walked to the hallway and put the thermostat as far to the right as it would go, then put his hand on the banister. “Come on up.”

He led her upstairs, pulling several towels from the closet in the hallway, then showed her to his bedroom, because it had the bathroom with the big glassed-in shower, not the tiny one down the hall. As he opened the door, he couldn’t help but compare this room to the one she shared with _him_. This room was tiny, with barely enough space to contain the two dressers, the wing chair, and a queen-size bed. Even if he opened the green curtains that covered the windows, there would be no view.

John went to the dresser, opening drawers and digging around. He pulled out two polo shirts and a pair of jeans, and from the top drawer, a pair of white socks.

John pushed the bathroom door open and snapped the lights on, then laid the folded towels on the countertop. A polo shirt and a pair of socks went next to the towels, and John came out of the bathroom. He didn’t look at Evangeline until he stepped out into the hall and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. The other polo shirt and the jeans were for him.

“It’s all yours. I’m gonna be disappointed if you don’t use up all the hot water.”

Evangeline smiled, then got back to shaking from the cold and rubbing her shoulders.

“Thanks. I’ll be down soon.”

“No hurry. I’m going out for a while.”

With that, he was gone. Evangeline stood shivering in his room, her mouth open. She couldn’t decide if John’s sudden disappearing act made her relieved or annoyed. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hung over the dresser, her hair completely wild and wearing nothing but his taped-together sweatshirt, and changed her mind. Being wet and naked with him in the very next room would be a very bad idea.

John came back through the front door 45 minutes later. He’d gone downstairs and called Sandy in from the yard, then taken her on a walk near the river, just to the dam and back. He stepped into the living room to find Evangeline curled up under a fuzzy blanket on his couch. Her hair was still wet and she kept scrunching it, attempting to give it shape in the absence of a blow drier and flat iron. She looked comfortable, and for a moment, John felt like she’d always been here in this house with him. He had to remind himself, forcefully, that she didn’t belong here.

“You were right,” she smiled.

“That doesn’t happen a lot,” he smirked. “What about?”

“My bathroom rug was uglier than yours.”

John swallowed. _That answers that question_ , he thought. _She remembers everything that happened last weekend._

“I used up all the hot water,” chirped Evangeline. “You were gone a long time.”

After the way he’d resisted her last weekend, she’d been sure he wasn’t going to try to join her in the shower. But he’d been there with her anyway: after her intense fantasy in the car, she’d thought of John the whole time. She’d been almost glad when the hot water ran out and the cold shocked her back to reality.

John simply nodded. His conversational mood from Batestown hadn’t made it home with them.

“Want to explain this?” she asked. She picked up a bottle of lotion from the coffee table and let it swing gently by its pump from her index finger. She’d found it in his bathroom. It was the cherry-almond kind she used at home.

John bent down to snap the lead off of Sandy’s collar, and Sandy lurched away in search of her water dish in the far corner. _Enough stalling._

“Not much to explain. I always liked the way it smelled.”

Evangeline just nodded and put the lotion down on the coffee table.

“I’m going to throw your clothes in the washer,” he said. “Are you hungry or anything?”

It was probably after one. Evangeline knew she should be hungry, but she wasn’t yet, so she shook her head. John went out to the garage and she heard the washing machine start. He came back in, rubbing the back of his head.

“It’ll take about an hour and a half,” he said.

“So what can we do in an hour and a half?” asked Evangeline brightly.

John blew out a disbelieving breath and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know where to look, but it wasn’t going to be at Evangeline. She pretended she hadn’t just said what she’d said.

“What would you do if I weren’t here?” she asked, trying to cover her blunder.

“I’d probably develop the film. Or put the game on and fall asleep.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d vote for the film,” she said.

“Normal circumstances?” _Being alone in the dark with you is not exactly what I had in mind, Evangeline._

“Yes. Normal circumstances, as in how it would be if I did not make a complete ass of myself last weekend, up to and including throwing up on your shoes.”

 _She wants me to act like none of it ever happened_ , he thought. John waited a very long time before responding. Then he cocked his head toward the door behind him.

“It’s in here,” he said.

Smiling, she rose from the couch and put the blanket aside. The polo shirt he’d given her came past the middle of her thighs and she was wearing his socks, scrunched down. But her legs were still miles long and he could see how soft her skin was. She brushed past him into the laundry room that he’d converted into his darkroom.

_Not exactly what I had in mind, Evangeline._

John picked up the camera bag and followed her.

###

John pulled plastic bottles from the cabinet, lining the chemicals up in order on the countertop. You needed developer, stop bath, fixer, and a rinse agent.

“It’s not really that exciting. Most people are more interested in making the prints. But this is the part you have to do first,” he said.

He mixed up the developer, then got ready to move the film into the developing tank. Evangeline watched his practiced movements.

“So what do I do?”

“Well, you man the light switch. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He picked up his camera and an exposed roll of film and slid the bag they came from under the laundry sink.

“Shut the door and turn off the light,” he said. She flicked the switch and it went completely dark. John had added weather stripping to the interior door to make sure not even a speck of light came through. “Okay, come over here. I’ll keep talking so you know—”

“I know exactly where you are, John.” She stepped forward and stopped just across from him. He could feel her breath on his neck.

“Give me your hand.”

She reached out and touched his fingers, feeling their heat. John took her hand and pulled her in front of him, then turned them both and placed both her hands down on the counter.

“So I’ll tell you what’s in front of you.” He reached around behind her back and picked up her left hand—she was left-handed—and moved it toward the camera and the developing tank that sat on the counter in front of her. He prepared to describe the various items, and was surprised when, instead, she pulled his hand over each one, calling them out for him.

“A roll of film. Camera. Bottles: one, two, three, four. Round spool thingies. Round canister thingy. Measuring cup.” She turned her head back and up toward him even though she couldn’t see him. “Aren’t you impressed?”

John swallowed, knowing that the only reason she was so comfortable in the dark was because they’d been in a church that had collapsed during a tornado. It had happened after they’d broken up. She’d been blinded by flying glass, spending months in permanent darkness before an experimental surgery had restored her vision. He wondered if it was hard for her to be completely unable to see again, and wished he’d been more thoughtful about it.

“Very impressed.”

He moved her hand to the work table in front of her, then reached into his pocket. “I’m taking out my pocket knife, so you want to stand still.”

John turned his torso away from her so if the knife slipped, she wouldn’t be hurt, but made sure to check her with his hip, so he’d know it if she moved. They both heard the sound of metal on metal as he pried the top of the film canister off. Then he snapped the knife shut and used the tiny scissors to trim the end of the film. He put the knife back in his pocket and reached for one of the reels. Finally, he clipped the end of the film into the center and started winding it on the reel.

Evangeline reached for him, wanting to know what he was doing.

“Here. Feel my hands. I’m winding the film into the slots,” he said. “Try to touch just the edges. Let me know when you get to the end.”

Together again in the darkness, where they had always felt the most connected, it was as though no time had passed at all. Touching her hand, John could feel the heat from her skin. More importantly, he was close enough to inhale her scent, the unique female perfume that was only Evangeline. He knew he should be grateful: he never thought he’d be this close to Evangeline again. But instead it was like being in his own private corner of hell.

He wanted to reach for her and pull her to him, but instead, he reached for the camera and rewound the film that was in it. He popped the back of the camera open and worked the film onto the second empty reel. Even working slowly, he was much faster at it than Evangeline, and they finished about the same time. John put his reel into the developing tank, then held the tank out for Evangeline and guided her hand until her reel clanked down on top of the first one.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“That’s it.”

“Really?” Evangeline sounded disappointed.

“Really.” John screwed the top carefully onto the developing tank.

“Too bad,” she said brightly. “I was thinking we found another thing we’re really good at in the dark.”

John held his breath and felt his heart start to pound. He started to say it, then stopped himself. And then he couldn’t stop himself.

“If I didn’t know better, Evangeline, I’d think you were teasing me.”

He pushed past her and snapped on the light. Then he opened the door, letting some cooler air in, and stood with his back to Evangeline and his hand on the door jamb. Evangeline watched him, kicking herself. For a moment, she thought he was going to walk out.

“Bad joke,” she said weakly, ready to apologize again if he needed her to.

“Forget it.”

“So when can I see the pictures?” she asked.

“We have to develop the film first.” John thumped a fist on the door frame. “Listen, I’m going to move your clothes. Be right back.”

Evangeline put her hand to her forehead and shook her head. The whole point of being here was to prove to herself that last weekend was a fluke. She waited, less and less patiently, for John to return from the garage. She was stepping forward to go after him when the door opened and he came through, bringing the chill air in with him.

His face was flushed but the look he gave her was all business, Evangeline saw. It was the determined face he wore in court, and it made her feel terrible.

“Developer first,” he said, looking at his watch and then pouring the solution he’d measured into the tank and capping it. “Then you knock the tank on the counter to make sure there are no air pockets. And then you turn it over.”

He put the tank down on the counter and looked at his watch, waiting for the second hand to sweep past the minute mark.

“Now you. Just shake it gently, count to fifteen, put it down.”

They took turns, neither one looking at the other, for five minutes. Then John poured out the developer and added the stop bath, shook the container for a minute, and followed with the fixer. More minutes passed and finally, he took the container and ran it under the faucet in the laundry sink. He carefully unrolled the reels, rinsing the film in the cool water, and willing himself to act like everything was normal. _Normal circumstances_ , he thought.

“Can I see?” asked Evangeline.

He felt her come close behind him again, standing in the narrow space between the work table and the sink. He was glad to have the negatives. It gave him something acceptable to do with his hands.

“Sure,” he said, moving to the side. He looked at the thin strips of film, holding the end of each one carefully by its sides, and clipping it to a rack hung between the cabinets over the sink.

“That one might work,” he said, pointing with his pinky. “Maybe that one, too.”

She leaned in close to see, grazing his hip, and John flattened himself back against the table to make sure he wouldn’t touch her. Her hair was not quite dry, but it smelled great, and he tried to fix it all in his mind because she would be leaving again soon. He needed her to.

Evangeline turned her head to face him, looking up expectantly, and John was consumed, again, with the urge to kiss her. They were that close.

“You were taking pictures of me today?”

There were six of them, all from an angle. They showed the side of her face and part of a thoughtful expression, as much as John could capture without her knowledge and consent.

“That’s a problem?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine… I’m just didn’t know you were doing it, that’s all.”

John swallowed and looked down. There was no point in ignoring it any more. Their closeness was affecting him, a lot, and he hoped to hell it didn’t show.

 _This is worse than the seventh damn grade_ , he thought.

There was a lengthy pause.

 _God, that man’s eyes are blue_ , she thought, looking at him from the side. _I remembered them being intense, but this is like… like we never stopped._

Evangeline inspected his face before turning back to the negatives. John carefully let out the breath he’d been holding, then slid backwards, needing to get away. He threw out the first excuse he could think of.

“I’m going to get a drink,” he said, his voice rough. “Can I get you something?”

“No thanks,” she replied lightly.

As soon as he cleared the door frame, Evangeline turned and placed both palms on the work table and dropped her head. Every part of her body could feel that man right now, and he hadn’t touched her with so much as an eyelash.

###

Several minutes passed and John didn’t come back. Evangeline stepped out of the darkroom and padded into the living room. He wasn’t there. She continued on to find him in the kitchen. The afternoon sunlight reflected off the pastel walls, giving the entire room a dusky blue-grey cast.

John had opened the window all the way and was leaning back against the sink with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wondered if she could tell he was hiding from her. Evangeline couldn’t see his face.

“You disappeared,” she said, moving into the arched doorway and crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’s too hot in there for me,” he explained lamely.

 _Normal fucking circumstances_ , he thought. _What the hell is that like?_ He looked across at the wall over the stove.

If there was a way to make sense of his current situation, John didn’t know what that was.

He took a sip of the whiskey and looked at the floor. Then he looked at Evangeline.

Evangeline returned his gaze, silently observing the haunted, hungry look in his eyes.

John watched mutely as she stood there wearing one of his shirts, the way she’d done so many times before. Back when they were together, she spent more time in his shirts than he did. He knew he should be fighting his feelings, but today, having her complete attention, having Evangeline all to himself, had made him feel whole again.

He took another drink of his whiskey, staring at her dark brown doe-eyes over the rim of the glass. Her eyes never left his face.

 _If she really wanted_ him, _there’d be nothing I could say or do to get her to be with me. But here she is, smiling and laughing and talking, like she belongs here._

John felt the tingle at the base of his neck.

No matter what it cost him, he wasn’t ready to return to the empty place he’d constructed for himself.

He brought the glass down from his lips, intending to put it on the counter, but to do so meant he would have to turn and break Evangeline’s gaze.

Instead, he smashed a perfect curveball against the baseboards, cascading whiskey and broken glass all over the floor behind him.

John was to Evangeline in two steps. Denied so long, he didn’t ask for permission or wait for approval. He crushed her to him and captured her soft lips, one hand laced into her black hair and the other arm all the way around her waist. One more step brought them to the wall and John made sure his arm took the brunt of the impact. He pinned her there with a deep kiss and thrilled to feel her kiss him back. At the same time, Evangeline pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him away.

“No,” he kissed her. “I need you.” He held her to the wall with another kiss and trapped her hands between them.

“I can’t.” Evangeline’s breath barely escaped her as she tried to speak. “John, I can’t.”

But he felt and tasted even better than her memories of him. Those memories had sustained her for years, and now, her body crackled with electricity to have him be real again. Even as her words were saying one thing, her body was doing another. She pressed upward into him until she felt his hardness, and remembered herself. Panting, she used her arms to lever herself as far away from John as the wall would allow.

“We won’t… I won’t,” he promised. “I just need to feel you next to me.”

Evangeline gave a wrenching cry and tilted her head back.

“I need you,” he repeated, his teeth clenched and his knees bent so he could relay his want deep into her eyes. She turned her head away and began to straighten her elbows, trying to lock her arms. John pulled her wrists down and behind her back and compelled her to look back at him. 

“I want you,” he said fiercely, pressing into her and giving her captured wrists a shake. “Don’t fight me.”

“John, I want you too. But—”

He stopped her from talking with a soft kiss to the lips.

“Then trust me,” he implored. He looked directly into her eyes from only a few inches away, trying to communicate a depth of feeling he would never be able to put into words. “Trust me.”

Evangeline’s breaths came shallow and fast and she leaned her head back against the wall, stalling. No amount of extra space or additional time would change her situation. She wanted this man more than anything or anyone she had ever wanted. And wanting him was wrong.

She looked back into his eyes and spoke tensely.

“Let go of me.”

John had been holding his breath. He squeezed her wrists once and exhaled. Then he relaxed his grip. It was over.

Evangeline twisted her arms out of his grasp and immediately grabbed John’s hands. He jerked from the shock, then gasped as she put his hands on her hips and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I trust you,” she whispered, and that was all John needed.

He lifted her and her long legs went around him automatically as he burned kisses onto her neck. It was steps to the couch, and he put Evangeline down in front of it, sucking at her neck and her collarbone. He reached behind him to pull his shirt off, completely forgetting his scars in the heat between them. She helped him get the shirt over his head, then tore her own off the same way, letting it drop behind her. They both reached for his belt and he got it undone. Evangeline sat down on the couch and yanked his jeans down, her heart pounding as she saw how hard he already was.

John stepped out of his boots and ripped off his jeans and socks, then took both of Evangeline’s hands and drew her arms down until she was lying on the couch. He slid in next to her, kissing her and stroking her hair.

Evangeline kept her eyes closed and said nothing, trying and failing to control her breathing.

John tipped his head to the side, away from Evangeline, and looked down the length of her body. He saw her arousal and knew that, this moment, he could choose a path that would poison her relationship with Dennis. It might even make her leave Dennis, eventually, but he couldn’t guarantee it would mean she’d choose him. And the odds were she’d be so angry with him afterward that she’d run the other direction. If he was going to be smart about it, there was only so much he could demand of her. Ultimately, Evangeline would have to make this choice, for both of them.

John kissed her neck, then her eyelids, and then again on her mouth, waiting until she accepted his tongue and flicked hers against his. He traced his finger under her chin and down the length of her neck.

“Turn over,” he said, using the commanding voice that made her heart skip.

Evangeline’s eyes flew open and her breath caught as she looked into his face. John’s mouth was open and she saw how much he needed her, needed release. She rolled to her stomach without even a word. She felt John strip off his boxer shorts and press into her hip, then felt his long fingers pull the sides of her thong down. Finally, he unclasped her bra, stroking her back in big arcs to move the hooks out of his way.

John climbed on top of her, his knees apart, one on either side of her, and her legs between his, tight together. He reached for the bottle on the table and pumped a big squirt of lotion into his hand.

“It’s cold,” he said, apologetically, then rubbed it into her lower back.

 _You’ll make it warm_ , she thought, waiting. This had been his solution when the timing of her cycle worked against them. _It’s better if I can be inside you_ , he’d whispered to her the first time he’d suggested it. _But it doesn’t have to stop us._

John rubbed himself with the rest of the lotion, then positioned himself carefully against Evangeline, in the perfect hollow just above her shapely ass.

The first time they’d tried this, Evangeline had done it solely to please John. She’d been surprised—shocked, even—to find it turned her on. Somehow, when he couldn’t be inside her, he was noisier, and listening to him as he thrust against her aroused her in ways she never would have guessed.

This time was no different. John held her hips and moved hard against her, whispering how good she felt. They worked together, matched perfectly, still knowing how to satisfy each other despite the years apart. Focused only on pleasing him, Evangeline arched her back to give him the sweet friction he needed. And when he came, shooting high onto her back, Evangeline felt no shame. She felt only the satisfaction of being loved by John Thomas McBain.

###

Still breathing hard, John rolled off to Evangeline’s side, kissing her shoulder and her neck. He reached to the coffee table for his shirt, and gently wiped his seed from her back. He tossed the balled-up shirt on the floor, then put his hand to her shoulder blade, peering at the mole that peeked through his fingers. Even after all this time, he remembered every little thing about her.

Evangeline was breathing hard, too, excited from being with him, her body responding fully as it always had. Minutes had passed, giving her time to think. Now she didn’t want to turn around and face him, ashamed to look into his eyes and acknowledge what they’d just done. _No, not what we’ve just done_ , she thought. _It’s what I’ve just done. It’s not like he’s the one cheating._

John watched her, knowing she was trying to go to that place in her head where she hid from what she was doing.

John pushed out his lower lip, watching her tense and knowing that, despite their proximity and near-nakedness, she was doing her best to keep him at a distance, emotionally anyway. And after what had just passed between them, there was no way he was going to tolerate her avoidance.

He hooked one large hand around to the front of her hip.

“Your turn,” he said, turning her over and into his arms.

Evangeline closed her eyes.

“John, I can’t.”

He made no move to let her go, so she tried again, weakly.

“I can’t stay.”

“And I can’t let you leave without giving you what we both know you want.” John’s voice was low and deliberate.

“John, you don’t understand. I have to go.” She was whispering now, saying the right words, but she made no move to leave his arms.

“Oh, I understand,” he replied. _Better than you think._ John’s eyes blazed, knowing that even aroused as she was, Evangeline chose her words with precision. She knew, as well as he did, the one, small word that would stop him cold: _no._ But she wasn’t saying that word at all.

“John, I—” she breathed out through her nose. “Please, I can’t. Please.”

“I forgot how much it turns me on to hear you like that,” he said, pushing himself against the side of her hip. He was still hard.

He traced around her navel with his index finger and she writhed beneath him, her eyes tightly closed and her nipples taut.

“It’s better if I can touch you,” he said, looking down into her face, considering her needs and his wants. His breathing was slow and determined. “But I don’t need to.”

He trailed his finger down toward her hips, and then lower. Evangeline froze, then clutched at his arm, trying to stop him. John deflected her hand, then grabbed her wrist to keep it out of his way. Evangeline’s breaths came shallow and fast as she felt John watching her. She didn’t dare open her eyes because she didn’t dare look into his. Then he pulled the sides of her thong higher, one at a time, and after a moment, Evangeline raised her hips to help him get her dressed. Her panties back in place, she rolled her head toward him and opened her eyes at last, disappointment and relief filling her gaze. _He’s giving up. He’s going to let me go._ She closed her eyes again.

“I’m so sorry. I’m going to go,” she whispered again, after a moment.

“No, Evangeline, you’re going to come.”

With that, he reached down and began massaging her love button through the stretchy lace of her panties. He was careful not to touch the silk of her thighs, concentrating only on the small, covered area. He could feel how tense, how stiff, her body was. But she didn’t stop him. She didn’t encourage him, either.

He held her tight with his other arm and spoke softly into the curve of her neck.

“Do you have any memory of the way it was between us?” he whispered, desire filling his voice.

He used those words, her words from their fight, deliberately. Evangeline’s heart pounded to hear her words in that voice, his voice, the one she imagined he used only with her. Since they’d broken up, she’d fantasized about the way he used to talk to her as he made love to her, many times. Hearing that voice again excited her so much, she thought for a moment she would come right there.

“I want you to think about something for me,” he said, still rubbing circles on the outside of her panties. “I want you to think about me inside you.”

Evangeline arched her back and John watched her, taking her all in. She was the most responsive woman he’d ever known; watching her was at least half the pleasure of being with her.

“I want you to think about how I used to make you scream.”

John felt her hips rise and fall as she tightened her muscles in time to his strokes. That meant she was getting ahead of him. He hooked one knee inside hers and pulled her legs further apart. He wanted to give her release rather than have her take it from him.

“Do you want me to make you scream like that right now?” he breathed. “You don’t even have to say it. Just look at me and I’ll know.”

She felt a warm, wet rush inside and surrendered completely, needing his touch this one last time, and having already decided that she’d deal with the consequences of her actions later.

“Yes,” she cried, surprising both of them.

John slipped his fingers under the side of her thong. He reached down to touch her entrance and felt how amazingly wet she was, but did not allow his fingers to go further. Instead, he traced over Evangeline’s love button and pushed her closer to where they both wanted to go. 

She grabbed his forearm with both hands.

“Oh John,” she cried. “I—”

“You don’t get to talk,” he interrupted. “I only want to hear you moaning.”

His words made her frenzied, wanting him to fill her everywhere. She grabbed his other hand, the one not stroking her, and brought those fingers to her mouth. She thrilled to hear a gasp escape John’s lips as she sucked his fingers the way she’d suck his cock.

Evangeline bucked and moaned, wanting to prolong the inevitable as much as she wanted to give in to him again. He knew her, knew what she wanted like no other man ever had, and she’d so missed the feeling of being his.

John’s heart raced, watching her and knowing that she belonged to him again, completely, even if it was only going to last for a few minutes. He worked her in tiny circles and brought her exquisitely close to the edge. The vibration of her strong thighs and her deep breathing let him know it was time.

“I’m inside you. I’m gonna come, hard. And I need to feel you first,” he breathed, stroking her and watching her face and pressing himself against her hip. “Now, baby.”

Evangeline arched her back tight against him and cried out as her orgasm exploded beneath his fingers. He stopped moving instantly, knowing she needed him to hold her while she fell.

John watched the shadows move on the wall and listened as her breathing slowly returned to normal. He waited as long as he could before speaking.

“Evangeline,” he said, kissing her forehead softly, “you don’t have to go. But if you’re going to go…” John’s voice trailed off. _God, I don’t want you to go._

“I know.” _But I don’t want to go._

She didn’t move a muscle. John looked away, which was the only way he could get the next words out.

“In about five minutes I’m going to start needing you again.” _More like, I never stopped needing you, and if you don’t leave, I’m never going to let you leave, ever again._ “So if you’re going to go, you have to go _now_.”

His words had the intended effect, and she rolled away from him, curling herself into a ball. A moment later, she climbed over him, holding her bra in front to cover herself. She headed directly for the garage and the dryer. When she came back in, she was fully dressed.

John laid on the couch with one arm behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. He pressed his lips together and stared at the shadow on the wall, at the ceiling, at anything besides Evangeline.

She picked up her keys and her shoes and left, closing the front door behind her with a quiet click.


	15. Sundown

John waited until the sun was definitely on its downward arc before he rose from the couch.

Sandy, who’d somehow known not to bother him, loped over to press her cold nose against his bare skin and thump his calf with her tail.

He pulled on his boxers and jeans and stepped into his boots, then went to the kitchen to clean up the broken glass. He realized it was a miracle Sandy hadn’t gotten hurt, and he didn’t want to tempt fate any further.

Fixing the mess in the kitchen left him with just two more items on his to-do list: he wanted to drink until he couldn’t feel anything anymore, and then he wanted to pass out, preferably face-down in bed, and not wake up until Monday morning when it was time to go back to work. He reached up for a glass, then thought better of it and closed the cabinet door. He grabbed the bottle of Irish whiskey and gave it a shake. Someone was looking out for him: there was enough left. He raised the bottle to Sandy, who sat near the entrance to the kitchen, watching him intently.

“See you Monday,” he said.

Sandy trotted to her bed and laid down. John, following her good example, walked back to the couch and kicked off his boots. He twisted the top off the bottle, then flicked it through the doorway into the kitchen, where it ricocheted off the cabinets. He took a big drink and laid down across from his dog, curling an arm between his head and the armrest and balancing the bottle on his chest.

He drank deliberately every few minutes, trying to poison the questions swirling in his head.

_Did she get home safe?_

He drank.

_Does she hate me now?_

He drank.

_If by some miracle she doesn’t hate me now, will she hate me later?_

He drank.

_Answers: Probably. Probably. Definitely._

He drank.

Sandy sat up and whined once, looking at John and thumping her tail against the wall near her bed. John rolled his head to the right and looked over at her. Seeing his dark expression, she laid back down and put her head on her paws.

He rolled his head back to center and lifted the bottle, taking another drink. He balanced the bottle back on the center of his chest, enjoying the warmth that was beginning to bloom just underneath the cool glass. The whiskey was working faster than usual for him, because Evangeline stood under the arch of the hallway, dressed in what she’d been wearing earlier today. She was looking at him and biting her lip. He flashed a cynical, rueful smile at her image, then swallowed another gulp of whiskey to make her go away. Normally, he didn’t mind imaginary company when he was drinking by himself, but tonight was all about being alone.

Sandy thumped her tail a few more times and Evangeline patted her thigh, still looking at John. Then she bent to put her shoes down so she could pet the dog.

John froze.

The Evangeline that lived in his imagination would not do that.

His front door, which was never unlocked, had been left unlocked all afternoon. He hadn’t heard the door open and he hadn’t heard her come in, but his ex-girlfriend, whom he’d taken advantage of just hours ago and who was about to be married to another man just days from now, was standing before him, concern written on her face. 

People rarely ever surprised John; they could usually be counted on to live down to his expectations. He’d expected her to leave and crush him. He’d braced himself for it. He was surprised, deeply surprised, that she’d come back, and his heart was pounding like a trip hammer.

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly.

She’d driven halfway way home to Alexandria before pulling off the highway and sitting in the parking lot of a McDonald’s, caught in the grip of what she’d done. If she continued home, she’d betray John, and if she turned around, she’d betray Dennis again. Most of an hour passed as Evangeline sat, her hands gripping the bottom of the steering wheel, and it didn’t change a thing. All she wanted, the only thing she wanted, was John again, no matter how wrong it was.

 _Go_ , she’d thought. _You know you’re going back. Just go._

She’d turned the key in the ignition and sped back to John. And now, instead of accepting it, John wanted to know why.

 _Because we can’t go forward until we deal with our past. Because I can’t go forward…_ Evangeline pressed her lips together, knowing how weak her arguments were, but knowing if she said the truth out loud, her world would shift permanently, turn violently off its axis.

Everything about his body language warned her to keep her distance, stay well away from him. But she knew that if she got in close she could make him too weak to stop her. She’d be able to break the tension between them and make him hers.

 _God, I’m selfish_ , she thought, but it didn’t change for a moment what she was here to do.

She rose up and stepped between the coffee table and the couch. She took the whiskey from him and for a moment he thought she wanted a drink, too. Evangeline looked around for the cap to the bottle before realizing John hadn’t been planning on needing it. She walked the few steps to the fireplace and put it up on the mantel. Then she came back to John and clasped the hand that was resting on his chest, still curved from being around the bottle.

Evangeline laced her fingers into John’s and pulled on his hand. She pulled, lifting his arm off his chest, until he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. Then she backed away from him, and he stood, whereupon she turned and led him around the wall.

She led him slowly up the stairs, giving a small smile when Sandy bounded up ahead of them and jumped in excited circles in front of the bedroom door. Evangeline brought John through the door and waited quietly, not letting go of his hand, while he gave Sandy some pets and got her settled in the hallway. He closed the bedroom door, but didn’t turn around. His hand remained, flat, covering the seam where the door met the jamb.

Evangeline moved between him and the door and brought the hand she’d been holding to her chest. She spread their fingers and flattened his hand over her heart, covering it with her own. Then she looked into John’s eyes, moved his long hair back from his cheekbones, and kissed him tenderly, her full lips meeting his.

He knotted his fingers in the hair at the back of her head and pulled back gently, needing to see her face. He needed confirmation that what he was feeling, she was feeling too. John scanned her face, and it was all there: determination and want and the connection they’d always had. He let out the breath he’d been holding and touched his forehead to hers, then tipped his chin forward to capture her lips again.

She began to shrug herself out of her vest. John broke their kiss and stilled her, putting his hands to her shoulders.

“I want to,” he said, his voice husky. “Let me.”

He slid it to the floor, then pulled her sweater out of her jeans and off over her head. He remembered how much Evangeline loved having her neck kissed, and unlike before on the couch, this time, he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving marks. She’d longed for the feeling and threw her head back, wanting more of everything he was going to give her.

Her narrow belt and jeans were next, and then his jeans. Evangeline reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra, watching it fall on top of her other clothes before looking back up at John. His hands went to her breasts and their eyes locked, his full of promise and desire and hers full of desire, too, and something else. It gave John pause for a moment as he tried to identify it, but then he pushed it aside. Nothing else mattered to him as Evangeline drew her thong down over her hips and let it drop to the floor, stepping over it and directly into his arms.

He pulled her to him, both of his hands to the sides of her head. He brought her face to his, her lips to his, and kissed her. He took his time, because now they had time. Evangeline reached up and took both his hands and led him to his bed, pulling back the comforter and the sheet. She slid his boxers down over his hips, then pressed all of her nakedness against his, feeling his erection flat against her belly. John kissed her once more, then bent her back and laid her down on his bed, the cherrywood sleigh bed that had come with the house. It was grand and romantic and so unlike anything he’d have bought for himself, but now, looking down at her, he thought the bed could not be more perfect.

He thought of all the times before, when he could only see Evangeline when his eyes were closed. Now he would see her whenever he opened his eyes.

John took his time, feasting on each nipple in turn, then turning his attention to the tiny curve of her waist and the roundness of her ass while she watched him and ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her belly and the sharp point of her hip bone; he even placed a kiss into the palm of her hand and closed her long fingers around it.

Evangeline marveled at his touch, wondering how the best could be even better now. The perfection of the moment made tears prick behind her eyes. She pulled him on top of her, bringing him to rest between her legs, and reached her arm around him.

John tensed and twisted away. He didn’t want her to touch that side, the side with the scars she still hadn’t seen. Evangeline saw his face and caught her breath, wishing she’d gone a little slower, given him whatever time he needed. She cupped his chin, then kissed him while she returned her hand to its original course. She deepened their kiss and stroked his shoulder, feeling the raised, thickened skin and trying to decide if she loved this man in spite of his pain, or because of it. Then she brought her hand around to cup his chin again. She looked him right in the eyes as she kissed him. It was the best way she could think of to tell him that to her, he wasn’t broken.

John’s eyes fluttered open and closed, torn between his brain needing to see her, to know that she was real, and his heart needing to believe in the love that had brought her back to him.

She drew her head back, taking in how light his breathing was. She watched John, her eyes luminous, knowing how to return him to feeling instead of thinking. Evangeline shifted underneath him, positioning him at her entrance. She kissed him, capturing his tongue and guiding him inside her, loving the way he groaned as he felt how hot and wet and tight she was. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and brought him home.

Evangeline had never forgotten their lovemaking, but the reality of having him inside her again made her shake. It wasn’t just how big he was, though that alone was satisfying; it was how connected they became. From their very first time, they’d fit together, each of their bodies instinctively knowing what the other desired most, and when. And for them, connected below meant connected above. Joined together, they’d look into each other’s eyes, and their respective worlds simply fell away.

John moved above her, holding her tight. He ran his hand from her ass to her knee and back, holding her close and letting her go, wanting to feel all of her and making sure she could feel the entire length of him. He raised himself on one arm, then pushed deep and held himself there. He stroked her face and looked down into her eyes, into the only peace he’d ever known.

“I’m going to tell you now,” he said.

At first she didn’t know what he meant. She’d been too wrapped up in the sensations of him and their movements to understand his words. Then she froze.

 _No!_ She started to shake her head but it was too late.

“I love you.” His eyes would not let her go. “Evangeline, I love you.”

He bent his head to kiss her, and it was like floating and falling at the same time. When she could see his eyes again, she stared directly into them, so he’d know she was telling him the absolute truth.

“I love you too, John.”

“It won’t be like last time. I will always put you first. I will be there for you.”

Evangeline touched her fingers to his lips, needing him to stop talking. If he didn’t, her heart was truly going to break.

“John, forget about all of that. Just be with me now.”

Evangeline Williamson could only turn her mind off for so long to the reality of what she was doing. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hugged John tight, needing him even more.

He kissed her fingers and she reached up to pull him down to her, moving underneath him to re-establish their rhythm. Hearing those three words, the ones she’d waited so long to hear, Evangeline became the one who needed to feel and not think. She clutched his body to her, her hands pressed into the small of his back, pulling him closer and drawing him in. She drove him with her legs and arms until they were both caught up again in the slow, deliberate pace they’d chosen before.

There were no more sounds save for the ones neither one of them could hold back. Evangeline, remembering the way John had commanded her that afternoon, climaxed first. She cried out and stopped him with her legs, wanting him to feel her release and know he’d done that for her.

John watched her lose control, caught in the power her moment held for him, then drove himself to join her. His body began to shake; his hips moved of their own and he could not control himself even if he’d wanted to. He dug his fingers into her cushioned hips and came deep inside her with a determined cry, forging a bond he knew he would never, ever break.

###

Afterwards, John did something he’d never done with Evangeline: he collapsed on top of her with the full weight of his body, unable to catch his breath. It was minutes before his breathing came close to normal and he realized he was crushing his beloved. He kissed her neck and her shoulder, then pulled out of her with a rough groan and moved down her body before collapsing again. He wrapped both arms tight around her middle and laid his head on her belly, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin on his cheek.

For the first time in years, and only the second time in his life, he could see it all before him. He didn’t know what the future held and he didn’t care, because Evangeline was with him, truly with him.

He wrapped both arms tight around her middle with a squeeze and kissed her just below her navel. Evangeline lifted her arm from the mattress and brought it to his head, wanting to tangle her fingers in the long hair she loved.

“Evangeline, you came back to me,” whispered John, full of awe at the turn his life had just taken.

Evangeline fell completely still, not even breathing, with her hand frozen in position inches from his head. John registered the change but it took him a moment to react, and when he lifted his head to turn and look at her, Evangeline snatched her hand away.

The truth came to him slowly, but no less painfully. Evangeline could see it in his eyes, but she said the words out loud anyway, needing to hear the finality in her own voice.

“No, John. I didn’t.”

He shrank away from her, his heart pounding again.

She leaned forward and John backed away, both hands out, trying to give himself more time before she brought the rest of his world crashing down.

“I can’t… attorneys can’t… let their emotions rule their—” she started, and he didn’t let her finish.

“We’re not at work right now. You’re not a lawyer here, and I’m not a cop.”

“You aren’t a cop at all, remember?” she said softly.

“So this is because I’m not on the job??” It took everything in him to use reason with her, but reason only got him so far. He could not believe this was happening; his breathing was uneven and he wanted to strike out at something.

“No. It’s about you being who you are and me being who I need to be.”

“Who you need to be.” The best John could do was say it and not ask it. He could barely breathe.

Evangeline chewed her lip.

“John, the life I have ahead of me isn’t what you want. You’ve never wanted any of that.”

 _How the hell can that be?_ he screamed to himself. _All I want is you!_

It made no sense. She’d come to him, she’d wanted him, he’d waited and watched and let it come from her, on her terms. He’d seen it, seen in her eyes how she was his again. She’d chosen him! And now she was going to act like it hadn’t happened at all.

John sat up, curling himself against the curved wooden foot of the sleigh bed, looking and feeling like he’d taken a bullet. Evangeline sat up too, wanting to reach for him, wanting to ease his pain even as she caused it.

 _This is it. Now or never_ , he thought. _Forever hold your peace._

It took everything he had, but he dug deep and kept himself open to her.

“I don’t know what I was so afraid of any more. What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

 _I’m afraid of loving you again. I’m afraid that if I give you my soul, I’ll end up under your shoe again_ , she thought. _And_ _if I don’t give you my soul, I’m afraid you’re going to haunt me forever. But even if you haunt me, it can’t hurt as much as what I went through before_.

But there was no point in saying any of that out loud. She’d learned it a long time ago, over and over again, that what was in your heart didn’t change things. Evangeline didn’t think she would ever hate herself more than she did right now, in this moment. She took a deep breath and tried to return to her script.

“What just happened between us—”

“Do you listen to yourself? You didn’t just fall into bed with me. That didn’t just _happen!_ You made a choice! You came here today. And I made a choice to be with you, hell, I _wanted_ to be with you! This was a choice _we_ made, you made the choice same as I did!”

“Well I already made a choice.” She forced herself to say the next words. “I chose Dennis.”

John’s hand clenched into a fist.

“He’s just the safe bet,” snarled John.

“He’ll give me… we planned for… he’s everything I’m supposed to want,” she cried plaintively.

John’s fury exploded and he punched the footboard of the bed behind him.

“Don’t you talk to me about _supposed to_!” he yelled.

“Just shut up! He’s everything I’m supposed to want but even when I’m with him, I’m thinking about you!” _Just say it, Vange! Just say it out loud: John, I can’t stop wanting you._ “I can’t think about anything else but you, and I can’t live that way.”

“Then why are you taking the easy way out?”

“There’s nothing _easy_ about this! I just need to get you out of my head!”

“Jesus, Evangeline! What we just did, that makes us belong to each other! It doesn’t drive us apart!” He stabbed his finger back and forth between them.

Evangeline made her voice soft.

“John, it depends on the _reason_ you do what we just did.”

John met her eyes with a stare that was simultaneously curious and malevolent. His voice was deadly quiet.

“What was _your_ reason, Evangeline?”

She pressed her lips together and breathed out once through her nose.

“John, I—”

The words died on her lips. She wanted to apologize, but no apology would ever be sufficient. John deserved to know who she really was, and what she was capable of. Evangeline lifted her chin and pressed her lips together, then answered him in his own words, in terms he would understand.

“Because I’m selfish. I needed to feel you again. One more time. But the invitations… they’ve already gone out.”

The look on his face as her words got through to him hurt her worse than anything she’d ever felt.

John felt his fury boil, but clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t completely lose it in front of this woman, who was a stranger to him. He suddenly realized he was naked and jumped out of bed, snatching up his jeans and slamming them on.

“How could you?” he spat. His voice shook. “How could you do this to me?”

He put his hands on his hips, breathing through his pain. Though he wouldn’t look at her, she could see tears he would not let fall gleaming in his eyes. And she knew from the tone of his voice when he spoke that these were the last words she would ever hear pass the lips of John McBain.

“I will never understand what goes on in your head. From now on, I don’t want to know any part of you.”

He picked up Evangeline’s clothes and threw them at her. They hit her in the face and chest with a snap. Then he leaned against the wall with a thump.

“Get out.”


	16. Packed

John put the key down on the foyer table next to the garage-door opener. He’d gutted through the remainder of his contract, leaving it with the Bureau so that he could probably come back with the next training class if he wanted to. For now, though, even the grey clapboard rental house filled with someone else’s belongings reminded him of her. He needed to leave, move on and try to start over somewhere new. Somewhere that didn’t remind him of Evangeline at all. He didn’t know where that was yet, but he was going to keep driving until he found that place.

He’d been in the house just over four months, and besides his heart-scarring encounter with Evangeline, he hadn’t accumulated anything in the way of extra baggage. Everything he was taking with him fit in the trunk of the GTO, except for his cameras, which he wanted within arm’s reach in case he saw something he needed to capture.

He left through the garage. He pressed the red button and ran, jumping over the electric eye so the garage door would continue its descent. He watched until the door made contact with the concrete, then turned toward the GTO. Sandy hopped from side to side in the back seat, ready to feel the wind on her face.

He had two stops to make before he could get on the road: coffee first, and then over to Jordan Patel’s gallery. She’d had a few more sales through the close of his showing, and though he’d asked her to mail a check to his mom’s, Jordan wouldn’t take no for an answer. She told him she’d be hurt if he didn’t come to say goodbye in person.

The gallery was in Alexandria, right around the corner from where Evangeline had gotten married. He’d seen the announcement in the paper. He didn’t want to be anywhere near there, but he wasn’t about to explain himself to Jordan, who’d gone on at length about his next exhibition, one consisting entirely of photos he hadn’t even taken yet.

He’d held the phone to his ear, waiting in silence long past the point of rudeness, but finally, lacking an appropriate reason to decline the kindness of one of his few supporters, he’d agreed to stop by on his way out of town. If for no other reason, he appreciated the irony. It would be the one of the few days he could go to Alexandria and know he wouldn’t run into Evangeline. She was on her honeymoon somewhere, no doubt somewhere stiflingly warm.

###

An hour later, he’d found parking and walked Sandy a bit, gathering himself. _This shouldn’t be this_ hard, he thought. Feeling like he was making a bigger deal out of his situation than the situation warranted, he took his time, letting Sandy lead him while she sniffed at every crevice along the sidewalk.

 _Even being on the damn sidewalk reminds me of her_ , he thought, walking past the shamrock painted on the window of O’Malley’s. He still marveled at how weak she’d turned out to be. She’d chosen an unhappy marriage where she could be sure of the outcome over a real shot at happiness, simply because the alternative meant risk.

And the really shitty thing was that a profiler should have seen it coming.

John didn’t know how he’d gotten her so wrong. Up until that night in his bedroom, he’d have told you Evangeline Williamson was the strongest woman—person—he’d ever known. John didn’t put his faith in people easily, and to have been so wrong about her had set him entirely adrift. He didn’t know or trust in anything anymore. He’d been going through the motions, acting the way people expected him to act just to get through the days, but her decision had taken everything from him: if he couldn’t trust her, then he couldn’t trust himself.

He barely even had the energy to be angry any more.

He remembered that you could make yourself do anything as long as you knew you wouldn’t have to do it forever. So he decided to give himself a time limit.

_Ten minutes. Execute._

He jaywalked across the street and pushed the glass door open. Sandy crowded his heels due to the unfamiliar surroundings, her nails clicking on the hardwood floors, as John headed straight for the back of the gallery. She stayed with him until he started up the spiral staircase, which Sandy wanted no part of. She was afraid of the metal steps.

“I don’t want to go up there, either,” he grumbled to the dog. “Come on.”

He stepped down behind Sandy and half-pushed and half-pulled the dog up the stairs.

John was thankful the mission-clock was ticking down as he and Jordan exchanged the usual pleasantries and the gallery owner patted Sandy between her ears. Jordan showed him over to the small round table, then returned to her desk on the other side of the office. John busied himself with shushing Sandy’s bark and trying to make her lie down next to the overstuffed chair he planned to take, until Jordan cleared her throat.

John, attempting to be pleasant despite his foul mood, fixed a smile on his face and looked up.

Evangeline Lockhart stood nervously on the top step, chewing her lip.

John’s knees gave and he sat down, hard, in the low chair behind him.

###

Evangeline nodded to Jordan, who smiled encouragingly. The two women gave each other a quick hug before Jordan slipped quietly downstairs. Sandy looked up at John, who stared sullenly at the floor. She put her nose into his hand and he offered her no response, so she got up and lurched across the rug to Evangeline, who knelt down to give skritches and accept a wet doggy hello kiss.

 _Can’t even count on the loyalty of a fucking dog any more_ , he thought, watching Sandy’s tail wag.

The minute Evangeline left after he’d thrown her out of his house, he’d wanted to get in his car and drive, just leave and start over someplace new, where he’d never have to see her again. _Next time, McBain_ , he thought, _just go with your gut._

He felt a surge of anger as Sandy curled up next to Evangeline’s feet and put her head on her paws.

After that, John kept his eyes locked stubbornly to the floor.

Evangeline waited, giving John the option to go first. He’d earned that the hard way. When he sat completely still in his chair, Evangeline saw it would be up to her.

“I’m glad you came, John,” began Evangeline, tentatively. She watched, feeling awful, as he calculated his response.

“I figured it was safe. I thought you’d be on your honeymoon, Mrs. Lockhart.”

Evangeline pressed her lips together, making him wait for her riposte.

“You have to get married to have a honeymoon, Mr. McBain.”

She waited some more while her words sunk in.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear already,” she went on. “Washington society is scandalized. Even Llanview society, such as it is, is a little shocked.”

John continued burning a hole in the carpet with his eyes.

“Todd tells me he won fifty bucks on the deal, though, so I guess it’s not all bad.”

Evangeline took a few steps further into the room and leaned against the railing that overlooked the gallery downstairs. Sandy got up and followed her, then laid back down at Evangeline’s feet.

“A hundred and seventy-five phone calls. Two-hundred if you count the vendors.” Evangeline held her manicured fingers to her ear in an imaginary telephone. “Gosh, Paulette, I’m calling to tell you it’s off, the wedding’s off. No, I’m okay. No, we just decided we want different things.” Evangeline dropped her arm and rested both hands on the railing behind her. “Yeah, different things. Dennis wanted an obedient little wife and 2.3 children and most of all, a power position in the party, and I wanted my ex-boyfriend so bad I could taste him.”

This got John’s attention.

“Yeah, Paulette. Wanted him so bad I could taste him. So I _did_. Yep, did that too. Went back for more. Uhmhmm. You know what I’m talking about. Exactly. A _very_ bad girl. What? Did Dennis find out? Oh, no. No, he was pretty clueless. Amazingly clueless. You won’t believe it, Paulette… this one time—well, _the_ one time—I’d been with John, I got home and Dennis was back early from his trip and he asked me where I’d been and I lied straight to his face and told him I’d gone to the beach, and get this, Paulette… the man actually told me I should go to the beach more often because it gave me a _lovely glow_.”

Evangeline watched John as she spoke, wondering if he was ready to talk, but he snapped his eyes away and stared off into the middle distance.

“Yeah, but Paulette, it wasn’t just that. I stood there in the doorway of that penthouse and I didn’t recognize myself any more. I didn’t—I couldn’t even make myself go inside. What? No, he tried to talk me out of it. You know him. Thinks he can negotiate anything. I know, I wish I’d figured it out sooner too. That is absolutely my biggest regret. But I know what I want now. I know what’s in my heart.”

If any of this was getting through to John, he gave no outward indication. Evangeline picked up her imaginary phone again.

“So, Paulette, it’s been great talking to you and all, but I’ve got to go. Lots more calls to make, just like this one. Thanks, and you take care, too, because it’s not like I’ll ever be seeing you again. Bye!”

Evangeline hung up the pretend phone and folded her arms across her chest. She stared directly at John until he raised his head and met her eyes. She waited while he fought himself, pursing his lips, before he finally spoke.

“So now you know what it feels like to let everybody down.”

“Not everybody. A few people understood. My family.”

“Your mom?” John was surprised, and it showed in his voice.

“Actually, yes. And Uncle Clay. He sort of set the whole thing in motion.”

John looked at her quizzically.

“Ask me nicely and I’ll tell you someday,” she said.

John looked away, annoyed, and put his hands on his thighs. Evangeline could tell that if she hadn’t been between him and the staircase, he’d already have left. 

Evangeline steeled herself, putting the gallows humor aside, and got ready to make the most important argument she’d ever have to make.

“So Jordan tells me you’re leaving.”

John said nothing.

“Where are you going next?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer.

He didn’t.

“I was thinking Boulder,” she suggested.

“I’m not going to help you run away. I told you to find someone else to help you with that.”

“I’m not running away, John. And there will never be anyone else.” She said it matter-of-factly, because to Evangeline, there was no truth greater than this.

He still wouldn’t look at her.

“What’s in Boulder, you ask? Oh, it’s a big city. They got everything.”

He gave her nothing. Evangeline leaned forward and made her voice soft.

“I know you like the cold. It gets cold there… and there’s water. Colorado River. Boulder Creek. Whitewater rafting.”

He looked interested for a minute, then looked away, so she continued.

“Lots of great places to photograph. Interesting architecture, new and old. The Rocky Mountains. Lots of great places to hike. Too bad you don’t ride. And—”

“I ride.”

Evangeline was surprised, but as long as he was talking, she’d take it.

“Well, then lots of places to ride.”

“Sounds perfect. Don’t let me keep you,” he snarled.

Evangeline ignored his anger. The way she figured, it was the first of many blows she’d have to bear before he’d be ready to move forward.

“Come to Boulder with me.”

“And do what?” He was clearly humoring her, if only to make her beg a little before turning her down flat.

“Photo. Teach. Catch bad guys.”

Evangeline saw that John was back to saying nothing.

“John, you can do anything you want. I can make enough money for both of us.” He threw a deadly glare over to Evangeline, then looked away again. “But that’s not the point. The point is that I don’t care who makes the money or where we go or where we live. The only thing I care about is I want to be with you. And I have a plan for how to do that, and you don’t.”

“You got it all figured out,” he said, archly. “But have you given any thought to _why_ I don’t have a plan for being with you?”

“I can only imagine what you think of me now,” she whispered. “And no matter how bad it is, it’s better than I deserve.”

Evangeline wanted just to go over to him and take him in her arms and feel him take her back into his arms. But she made herself wait. It any of that was going to happen, it was going to have to come from John.

“I know you’re angry—”

“Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he snapped.

“No. I imagine not. But all I can do now is tell you what’s in my heart and see if that changes what’s in yours.”

He didn’t argue with her, so Evangeline took a deep breath. If she got this part wrong, nothing else would ever matter.

“Before, when we were together, your issues got in the way.” John blew out a harsh laugh to hear her blame him again, and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Let me finish. The hard truth—what I’ve realized—is that your issues always got in the way _first_. If you’d been in a different place, my issues would have doomed us for sure. And I know that, because when we got our second chance, that’s what happened.”

He was looking away again, but Evangeline kept going.

“It’s been doubly unfair, because I never told you how I got to be this way. I thought you couldn’t possibly understand. But I should have told you, and if you’ll let me, I’m going to tell you now.”

Evangeline paused to observe John’s stony posture. Apparently, he wasn’t going to put up a fight.

“I handled it when Daddy passed. I handled it when I was blind. But two times in my life, I’ve had things happen to me that I just could not handle by myself. The first time, I was practically a child. I had a boyfriend named Marcus Wells and, if I had pressed charges, he would have been convicted of assault and aggravated battery.”

Evangeline kept her voice detached, carefully using the specific legal terms, both to distance herself from the memory and because she knew John’s mind. He’d assume the worst, that she’d been raped. Telling John about this part of her life was almost as hard as having lived through it.

“If knowing the details will help you understand, I will tell you all of it.”

There was a long moment before John shook his head _no_ , but he kept his head canted away from her. Evangeline wanted to walk over across from him so she could see his face. Instead, she gripped the aluminum railing behind her and continued.

“There was one person who helped me put that part of my life behind me and move forward. That person was Dennis.”

Evangeline paused because she sensed how her words about Dennis were hurting John.

“The second time I couldn’t handle it was last year. Before the attack, before my coma, I thought I had time. But the attack—” she had to stop and compose herself “—I lost a year. A _year_ , John. Even now, I struggle with the time I’ve lost and the short time I’m lucky enough to have left. You get one shot at life, and I thought I knew that, before. But after a year, when I finally woke up, I was terrified.”

John kept his eyes focused on the opposite wall of the gallery, and Evangeline honestly could not tell if he was listening or just waiting until she’d finished talking.

“I was so afraid. The only way I could make sense of it was that I’d brought it on myself, you know, if I’d made different decisions, none of it would ever have happened. I couldn’t trust myself any more. Everyone was poking at me to do this or that and I just _couldn’t_. I just wanted to stay in my room, because it was safe there. And D—he came to me and he gave me a way to pick up the pieces and move forward. I wish I could have done it on my own. I wish I hadn’t needed that… structure.”

It was only a tiny movement, but Evangeline watched as John turned slightly further away from her. Evangeline felt herself losing him, losing John, but there was only one path left to take.

“But John, the life I ended up living, the plans in my head, they weren’t working for my heart. And I didn’t get that until that day I pushed you away.”

Evangeline came a little closer along the railing, stopping when John noticed her approach.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” she asked. He didn’t say anything, so she kept talking. She had to keep talking as long as he’d let her. “I’ve always been independent. It’s never been all about a man for me. I’ve always kept it separate. What’s in my head was always more important than what was in my heart. It’s how I dealt with everything. Everything except you. You were the one time I let myself feel instead of think. And when it didn’t work out between us that first time, I told myself I’d never do that again.”

Evangeline wished he’d look at her, but she knew it was too much to hope for.

“John, please. Please. I don’t want to live that way any more. I want my head and my heart to be in the same place, the way it was with you.”

Evangeline let out a shaky breath, wondering how he’d respond. John didn’t make her wait long.

“That’s all very _logical_ , Evangeline.” Doubt filled his blue eyes, which were dark with sadness.

It was the first time he’d called her by her name. Evangeline took the opening and walked over to him. She knelt in front of him and took his hand, and was surprised when he let her.

“John, I think too much. I think about everything, but I am _not thinking now_.” She put his hand over her heart. “It’s all from here, John. All right here.”

“You threw away what we had. How do I know you won’t do that to me again?”

“I know it the same way I know you won’t make the same mistakes with me again.”

He looked unconvinced. Evangeline squeezed his hand.

“There is nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , keeping me here. I quit my job. I terminated the lease on my car. I have donated all my furniture. My books and your photographs are in my old room at my mom’s, and I gave away everything else. The only clothes I own are right over there.”

Evangeline pointed to a red soft-sided Pullman suitcase that sat next to a small cardboard box. John noticed it for the first time, and was still looking at it when Evangeline spoke next.

“Here’s the thing. It’s only ever going to be you, John.”

Evangeline’s words, the exact words Caitlin had said to him that first time he’d made love to her, caused him such pain, he thought for a moment his head would explode.

“Don’t say that! Don’t you fucking say that to me!! I can’t lose you both!!”

John stood up and yanked his hand away from Evangeline. He squeezed his eyes shut as a tear rolled down each side of his face. Turning away from her, he pressed both hands to his eyes and leaned against the opposite railing. Though he kept his back to her, Evangeline watched, alarmed, as his shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath.

Evangeline had no idea what had set him off. She stepped back, chewing her lip, and retreated to her own railing. Sandy got up and walked over slowly, nosing him in the knee. When John ignored her, she returned to her spot by the chair, between them, and looked back to Evangeline. After a bit, John, breathing through his nose, got it back under control. He wiped a hand over his face and blew out a shaky breath. He turned halfway around.

“What do you want from me?” 

“John, I’m asking if… after everything I’ve done… can you trust me?”

He shook his head and his hair fell into his eyes.

“Evangeline, it’s just not that easy.”

“Yes, John, it is. It’s exactly that easy.”

John, true to form, didn’t say a word. His eyes remained cast down, staring at the intricately patterned Persian rug. Long moments passed, and then, with finality, he swiped the hair away from his eyes.

At his movement, Sandy’s ears perked up, and she trotted over the remaining distance to Evangeline, wondering where they were going.

Evangeline held her breath. This was the longest John had ever made her wait for an answer. _The person who talks first loses_ , she thought. She made herself stay silent, wondering why she was worrying about negotiating tactics given that she was about to lose everything.

John closed the distance between them and stopped in front of Evangeline, who was still partially blocking his access to the circular staircase. He looked past her, down the stairs, then reached in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his small key ring. Evangeline, realizing he wanted to go, swallowed a cry.

_He’s leaving. This is it. He’s leaving me._

She blinked back her tears and had to look away.

John held out his keys between them, and when she didn’t take them, he reached down and picked up her hand, then put the keys into her palm and closed her fingers around them. Through her tears, Evangeline couldn’t read his expression.

“John,” she asked, her voice a whisper, “what does this mean? Does this mean you can trust me?”

“I’m letting you drive, aren’t I?”


End file.
